The Rustle of Silk
with his long finger nails and curious rings and highly polished boots;
not the gossipy old women in furbelows and dangling beads; not the
gallant courtier with his innuendoes and high flow of compliments; and
not the little lady's maid who was wont to do her hair. They were dead.
But in their place came Fallaray, stooping, pale and bewildered, hungry
for love, hungry for comfort, dying for inspiration and the rustle of
silk. And when he had sat down with his chin in his hand, she crept up
to his chair and went on her knees and put her golden head against his
heart, and said, "I love you. I love you. I've always loved you. I shall
love you always. And if you never know it and never see me and miss me
altogether in the crowd, I shall wait for you across the Bridge,--and
you will see me then."
But as she got up from her knees, blinded with tears, the voice came to
her again, strong and full.
"Go on, go on, de Breze,--courage, my girl, courage. You have not yet
won the right to cry."
VI
There were two reasons, then, for the visit to Castleton Terrace.
Feo's handsome present to Lola reacted most favorably upon Mrs. Rumbold
and came at a moment in that poor woman's existence when cash was scarce
and credit nil. Optimism also had been running a little low. But for
this divine gift how many more suicides there would be every year.
Mrs. Rumbold was sitting in her workroom in the front of the house,
waiting, like Sister Ann, for some one to turn up, when Lola's taxi
stopped at the door, and with a thrill of hope she saw the driver haul
out a large dress case on which the initials F. F. were painted. This
was followed by Lola, an hour early for her appointment with Lady
Cheyne, and they were both met at the top step by the woman who saw
manna.
"Well," she cried, shabby and thin, with wisps of unruly hair. "You're a
sight for sore eyes, I will say. I knew I was in for a bitter luck
to-day. I read it in the bottom of me cup. Come in, miss, and let's have
a look at what you've brought me."
The case was deposited in the middle of the room in which half a dozen
headless and legless trunks mounted on a sort of cage were ranged along
one wall, out of work and gloomy. Because the driver had been batman to
a blood in the 21st Lancers, the case was duly unfastened by him,--a
courtesy totally unexpected and acknowledged by Mrs. Rumbold in
astonished English.
"Thank you very much," said Lola, with a rewarding smile. "It's very
kind of you."
"Honored and delighted," was the reply, added to by a full-dress parade
salute with the most wonderful waggle before it finally reached the ear
and was cut away.--And that meant sixpence extra. So every one was
pleased.
And when Mrs. Rumbold, with expert fingers, drew out one frock after
another, all of them nearly new and bearing the name of a dressmaker who
hung to the edge of society by a hyphen, exclamation followed upon
exclamation.
"Gorblime," she cried out. "Where in the world did you get 'em? I never
see anything like it. It's a trousseau."
And Lola laughed and said, "Not this time."
And Mrs. Rumbold started again, putting Feo's astonishing garments
through a more detailed inspection. "Eccentric, of course," she said.
"But, my word, what material, and look at these 'ere linings. Pre-war
stuff, my dear. Who's your friend?"
And Lola told her. Why shouldn't she? And extolled Lady Feo's
generosity, in which Mrs. Rumbold heartily concurred. "I know what you
want," she said. "What I did to the last one. Let 'em down at the bottom
and put a bit of somethin' on the top. That's it, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Lola. "That's it. As quickly as you can, Mrs. Rumbold,
especially with the day frocks."
"Going away on a visit, dearie?"
"No--yes," said Lola. "I don't know--but, like you, I live a good deal
on hope."
The woman made a wry face. "Umm," she said. "You can get awful scraggy
on that diet. Keeps yer girlish, I tell yer." And then she looked up
into Lola's face. It was such a kind face, with so sympathetic a mouth,
that she had no hesitation in letting down her professional fourth wall.
"I'd be thankful if you could let me have a bit on account, miss," she
added, with rather pathetic whimsicality. "Without any bloomin' eyewash,
not even Sherlock Holmes could find as much as a bob in this house, and
I have a bill at the draper's to be met before I can sail in and give
'em perciflage."
"Nothing easier," said Lola, who had come armed to meet this very
request, having imagination. And out came her little purse and from it
five nice pristine one-pound notes which she had most carefully hoarded
up out of her wages.
And then for an hour and more Lola transferred herself, taking her time,
from frock to frock, while Mrs. Rumbold did those intricate things with
pins and a pair of scissors which only long practice can achieve. But
Lady Cheyne failed to appear. Had she forgotten? Had some one steered
her off? Ten minutes, fifteen minutes, twenty minutes, thirty minutes.
Lola's heart began to sink into her shoes. But just as she was about to
lose hope, there was a loud and haughty ring at the bell which sent Mrs.
Rumbold helter-skelter to the window, through which she peered eagerly.
"Well, upon my word," she cried in a hoarse whisper. "If you ain't a
bloomin' mascot. It's Lady Cheyne who used to be one of my best
customers, and I haven't seen 'er for a year." And she ran out excitedly
and opened the door and hoped her neighbors would be duly impressed by
the rather dilapidated Mercedes which was drawn up in front of the
house.
There was a burst of welcome, and then Lady Cheyne entered the workroom
much in the same way as a broad-beamed cargo-boat floats into harbor.
And then followed another surprise for Mrs. Rumbold, who was in for a
day of surprises, it appeared. "Well, you dear thing, here you are.
Punctual to the minute, as I always am. How are you, and where have you
been, and why haven't you run in to see me, and how sweet you look." And
the kind and exuberant little lady, whose amazing body seemed to require
more than one dressmaker to cover it up, drew Lola warmly to her side
and kissed her. It is true that she had forgotten her name again. She
saw so many people so often who had such weird and unpronounceable names
that she never even made an effort to remember any of them. But that
golden head and those wide-apart eyes reminded her of the conversation
over the telephone, brought back that evening at her house and linked
them with the tall figure of the one-armed soldier,--her dear friend
Peter something, so good looking, _such_ a darling, but _so_ unkind,
never coming near her. "Extraordinary enough, I was thinking of you only
a few nights ago. I was dining at the Savoy and the little crowd who
were with me spoke of you. They had been with me the night I met you
there and were _so_ interested. One of the men said that if I could find
you and take you to his concert he would try and draw your lips to his
with the power of his art. He often says things like that. But he's only
an artist, so it doesn't matter. Mrs. Rumstick, I want you to find
something to do in the next room until I call you. No, leave my things
alone. I'll explain what has to be done to them in my own good time.
That's right.--We're alone, my dear. Now tell me all about it." She sat
on a chair that had the right to groan and caught hold of Lola's hand.
"It's love," said Lola.
"Ah!"
"It's love and adoration and long-deferred hope."
"Oh, my dear, how you excite me!"
"And it can't come right without you."
"Me! Good gracious, but what can I do?"
Lola leaned closer. The pathetic farcicality of the dear old lady's
wreaths and becks left the seriousness of all this untouched. She
clasped the dimpled hand in both her own and set her will to work.
"Bring us together," she whispered, setting fire to romance, so that
Lady Cheyne bobbed up and down. "Help us to meet where no one can see,
quickly, quickly. The world is getting old."
"Well, there's the library at Number One Hundred! No one has ever been
in there except me since Willy passed away. You can come there any time
you like and not a soul will see you. And he, if he doesn't mind his
trousers, can climb over the back wall, so that he shan't be seen going
into the house. I wouldn't do it for any one but you, my dear. That room
has dear memories for me."
Kind and sweet,--but what was the use? It must be Chilton, Chilton, or
nothing at all. And so Lola kissed her gratitude upon the hot, rouged
cheek, but shook her head and sighed. (Go on, de Breze, go on.)
"He wouldn't dare," she said. "Nowhere in town; it's far too dangerous.
The least whisper, the merest hint of gossip----"
Lady Cheyne wobbled at the thought. There was more in this than met the
eye,--a Great Romance, love in High Places. How wonderful to be in,
perhaps, on History. "But at night," she said. "Late, when every one's
in bed. I assure you that after twelve One Hundred might be in the
country."
"Ah," said Lola, "the country. Isn't there some place in the country,
high up near the sky, with woods behind it where we can meet and
speak----"
"Whitecross!" cried Lady Cheyne, brilliantly inspired. "Made for love
and kisses, if ever there was a place. How dull of me only just to have
thought of that."
"Whitecross? What is that?" How eager the tone, how tremulous the voice.
"My darling nest on the Chilterns, where I'm so seldom able to live. If
only I could get away,--but I'm tied to town."
"Next Friday, perhaps,--that's the last, the very last----"
"Well, then, it must be Friday. I can't resist this thing, my dear, so
I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll leave on Thursday. It will give a new
bevy of my proteges a little rest and a quiet time for practise. And you
can come down on Friday."
"You darling!" (Good for you, de Breze. Very well done, indeed.)
"Now get a pencil and a piece of paper and write everything down. The
station is Princes Risborough." (As if Lola didn't know that!) "You go
from Paddington and you catch the two-twenty arriving there just before
four. I can't send a car to meet you, because my poor old ten-year-old
outside would drop to pieces going up to Whitecross. So you must take a
station cab and be driven up in time for tea, and you will find one
Russian, one Pole, two Austrians, one Dane and a dear friend of mine
with a voice like velvet who was a Checko-Slovak during the War and
German before and after. A very nice lot, full of talent. I don't know
where they're all going to sleep and I'm sure they don't care, so what's
it matter? They'll give us music from morning to night and all sorts of
fun in between. Killing two birds with one stone, eh?"
Was it the end of the rainbow at last? "Oh, dear Lady Cheyne, what can I
say?"
"Nothing more, now, you dear little wide-eyed celandine; wait till we
meet again. Run away and leave me to Mrs. Rumigig. It's a case of old
frocks on to new linings. Income tax drives us even to that. But I'm
very glad, oh, so very glad you came to me, my dear!"
And Lola threw her arms round the collector of stray dogs and poured out
her thanks, with tears. One rung nearer, two rungs nearer.--And in the
next room, having heroically overcome an almost conquering desire to put
her ear to the keyhole, stood Mrs. Rumbold, still suffering from the
second of her surprises.
"Do your best to let me have two day frocks and an evening frock," said
Lola. "And I will come for them sometime Friday early. Don't fail me,
will you, Mrs. Rumbold? You can't think and I couldn't possibly explain
to you how important it is."
"Well, I should say not. I should think it is important, indeed! Little
Lola Breezy's doing herself well these days, staying with the nobility
and gentry and all."