Delphi Works of Ford Madox Ford (Illustrated) (436 page)

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Mrs. Kerr Howe said. “I’m going at once.”

“That’s your beastly artistic pride,” the major commented; “you’d rather have a play produced than even a husband like me. But you’re not going down that staircase when there’s a twenty-to-one chance that Olympia is coming up it. Listen I Listen!” He held up one finger.

There couldn’t be any doubt that someone was coming up the stairs, which were of uncarpeted and polished black oak. “Not another word,” the major whispered. “I’ll do my best”; and lying upon his stomach the major began to emit, in a series of melancholy yelps, the name “George”; for in a moment of jocular humour the major had christened his present to Miss Peabody “George Washington.” And at the necessary point he called out sharply:

“Who’s there?”

An American voice with a highly cultured English accent answered: “It is I, Olympia.”

“Oh, well,” the major said, “the father of his country is under my bed, and I’m doing my best to get under my bed, so there, in a manner of speaking, we all are.”

He was aware that Mrs. Kerr Howe, behind the great bed curtains, was pressing as close to the wall as she reasonably could.

“I woke up,” Miss Peabody’s voice said. “I was awakened by feeling in my bones that George was not in his basket on the mat outside my door. I was convinced that he would be here. May I come in?” The major was getting up on to his knees. “That you certainly may not!”

“But why not?” the voice came from the door. “I can see through the crack that you are fully dressed. I’m coming in.”

The major stormed as fast as he could towards the door, but Miss Peabody was already in front of the fireplace.

“What a fine room you’ve got,” she said; “it’s so ancestral, so distinguished. Don’t you think we could induce Lady Savylle to sell it to us for our home?”

The major said — and he really was furiously angry:

“Now this really won’t do. You must get out of my room at once. It’s unheard of at this time of night. You’ve never done anything like this before.” And he headed her off from going to observe the panel. The room was very dark, since the only light it contained was that of the candle that Miss Delamare had left.

Olympia said:

“It’s ridiculous of you, Teddy! It’s not as if I was some flighty young girl or one of your dissolute companions, that I hope you’ve given up for good. I suppose I can be trusted.”

“No, you can’t,” the major said. “No one can be trusted at this time of night, and in this latitude.”

“You don’t seem at all glad to see me,” Miss Peabody said. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

The major said: “Oh, damn!” And then he added: “Look here, Olympia, I’ll kiss you with pleasure once you’re outside my room. You don’t understand. You can’t possibly understand. This isn’t Boston. I can’t have things said against my wife. Anyone may be coming in.”

“You don’t seem quite master of yourself tonight,” Olympia said. “I hope you haven’t been taking that nasty champagne again. Who would be likely to come in at this hour?”

“Anybody might,” the major answered. “It’s the custom of the country. Besides, it’s the principle of the thing that I object to. It isn’t right. It isn’t proper.”

And suddenly his face really paled beneath its tan, and his attitude of appalled listening was so intense that even Miss Olympia was silent. From far away he had heard a voice wailing:

“Teddy! I say, Teddy! I can’t find my room.” It was only the trained voice of an actress that could have carried so far, and have made the words so distinct.

“What’s that?” Olympia exclaimed.

“I don’t know,” the major said desperately. “It’s an echo! It’s a ghost. You never know what goes on in these old houses.”

And first he thought of pushing Miss Peabody out of the room and then he thought of running to the door to keep the other woman out; but if he did that, he was perfectly certain that Olympia would go to examine the panel, and see Mrs. Kerr Howe, who was hiding behind the curtain. If it had only been the purple kimono she would have been invisible in the shadows, but the golden embroidered swallows upon the lady’s breast he had observed already to gleam like brass plates. And then Miss Delamare, who had evidently been coming very fast, ran into the room and exclaimed breathlessly:

“I say, Teddy, I can’t find my room. I’ve been walking for miles and I can’t find it. I shall have to stop here all...”

And she stopped suddenly with the exclamation: “Oh, I didn’t know you’d got company I’m sure I beg your pardon.”

CHAPTER VII
.

FOR a moment the major was certain that an icy chill passed between the two ladies. He could feel it in his bones. And then he remarked seriously to Olympia:

“Now you have gone and ruined my reputation!” Miss Peabody had become the fiery red of pure rage. She remarked simply:

“Nonsense I You’re a man!”

“But haven’t you,” the major said, “haven’t you rubbed it into me enough that a man has to be just as careful about these things as a woman? Aren’t you always saying that a man ought to be as spotless as a nun? Isn’t that why you’re president of the Boston Society for Reforming Young Men? And now, Olympia, you have ruined my reputation for ever.”

But Miss Peabody, who was growing redder and redder, positively hissed between her teeth:

“This appears to me to be nonsense!” And she snapped at Miss Delamare the words:

“What are you doing here?”

Miss Delamare answered in a quite determined tone:

“Well, for the matter of that, what are
you
doing here?”

There seemed to the major nothing to remain but to treat the whole thing in a spirit of sheer farce. As far as he could see, his hands were perfectly clean, but he simply wouldn’t face the least chance of proving it — and for the matter of that, all these women’s reputations would be damaged, and there would be a regular beastly scandal, if he didn’t do his level best to carry the whole thing off with a hand light enough for the whipping of syllabubs. And he just said:

“In the name of Heaven, what are we all doing here?”

And Olympia, dropping for a moment the cold purity of her training, remarked harshly:

“Now that’s enough of this. I want an explanation.”

“That’s just,” the major said, “that’s just exactly what Mrs. Kerr Howe wanted. I’m no good at explanations. You’d better ask Flossie” Miss Peabody remarked, as was to be expected of her:

“Flossie indeed!” And then she fixed Miss Delamare with a baleful glare. “Well, I’m waiting.”

“So am I,” Miss Delamare said. “And if you want to know what I’m waiting for, it’s this: I’ve been brought down to this place in the interests of the pure drama. It doesn’t seem to me that I ought to be exposed to the chances of finding unmarried American ladies in gentlemen’s bedrooms.”

“Edward!” Miss Peabody exclaimed tragically, “are you going to see me exposed to these insults?”

“But, my poor dear Olympia,” the major said, “she is only expressing what I told you I felt myself. Oh, hang it all, I can’t explain, and you can’t explain, and Flossie can’t explain. Then the only thing left seems to be for Juliana to do it.” And he called out:

“Hi! Mrs. Kerr Howe, come out from behind that curtain.” For it had suddenly occurred to him that there were ten chances to one that the lady would be discovered, and there was nothing in the world to prevent her being used, even at that late date, as chaperon. She must, by all reasonable chances, be under his thumb. And when Mrs. Kerr Howe, with a face pale with rage, came round the foot of the bed, he said to Miss Delamare, whom he could trust to leg him up:

“Oh, I say, put a screen in front of the fireplace. There will be another woman coming down the chimney, and it might not look decorous.” Mrs. Kerr Howe exclaimed sharply:

“Major Foster, I insist upon an explanation of this insult,” almost at the same moment as Miss Peabody asked:

“Who is this person?”

The major said, with all the air of a calm introducer:

“Let me introduce Mrs. Kerr Howe to you. Mrs. Kerr Howe, the authoress of the future pure drama — I brought her down by the last train with me.”

“So it appears,” Miss Peabody exclaimed; and then she added: “I know all about Mrs. Kerr Howe.”

And at almost the same moment Miss Delamare said, in a quite audible voice: “Good old Teddy!”

Mrs. Kerr Howe and Olympia were maintaining an ominous silence. And then the major got his idea. He had been thinking of once more claiming Flossie as his half-sister, because his aunt might be trusted to leg him out. Just then what he thought was inspiration came to him, and he exclaimed:

“That’s right — that’s how I like to see you — nice and friendly. We shall all be kissing and making friends in a minute or two.”

“That we certainly shan’t,” Miss Peabody said.

He took no notice of her, but drew his breath for a long speech. “Oh, yes, we shall,” he began, “as soon as I’ve given my explanation. I’ve got it! It’s as clear as mud. See here, Juliana — you came down with me in the last train, didn’t you? And you, Flossie, you were dying to tell me all about your new theatre. And so you, Juliana, very kindly offered to chaperon Flossie, and to help explain about the new pure theatre. So there we were, all three comfortably sitting over the fire, when Flossie remembered that she’d forgotten to bring the plans of the new theatre, so, of course, Flossie went to get the plans, so Juliana was left alone with me. I don’t see anything wrong about that. Olympia, do you?”

“But why,” Miss Peabody asked suspiciously, “did Miss Delamare leave her shoes?”

It was then that the major made what was very nearly a fatal mistake. For, as it occurred to him afterwards, nothing would have been easier than to say that Flossie just didn’t want to make a noise; instead of which he said: “Oh, the shoes! Well, you see, they were a little present I was going to bring you from Paris. And Flossie was wearing them so as to air them, and to prevent my having to pay customs duty. So, of course, when Flossie went away she left the shoes in my grate. Because, you know, they’re really your shoes. She couldn’t take them. And really, it’s you who ought to explain how your shoes come to be found in my grate.”

Olympia again became very red.

“I don’t understand what all this rigmarole is about,” she said.

“Oh, go away and think it over,” the major exclaimed quite cheerfully. “It explains everything.”

“But it doesn’t,” Olympia exclaimed. “If the shoes are already in this country, why should you have to pay customs duty on them?”

“Oh,” the major answered, “I was going to give them to you in Paris: it would have been French customs duty.”

“But I’m not going to Paris,” Miss Peabody said.

“Well, you see,” the major answered, “I’m a man who likes to be prepared for everything. I thought that one day you might be going to Paris, and so it would be nice to have them already to give you. You ought to regard it as a touching attention on my part, instead of kicking up such a terrible row. And all about a pair of shoes. Oh, Olympia, I’m ashamed of you!”

Miss Peabody exclaimed ominously:

“Major Brent Foster...”

And the major, though he didn’t at the moment know why, felt a sudden gush of joy; nevertheless he said:

“Major Brent Foster! Why don’t you call me Edward — or even Teddy?”

“Because,” Olympia exclaimed, “I believe that all is over between us.”

Miss Delamare exclaimed just under her breath: “Poor fellow!”

For a moment the major felt a strong inclination to leave it at that. And he would have left it if there hadn’t come into his rather chivalrous soul the disagreeable idea of all these women’s reputations. There would be Miss Peabody going envenomedly about the world miscalling, in a quite skilful manner, not only Mrs. Kerr Howe, but Flossie, who certainly hadn’t deserved it. And there would certainly be Mrs. Kerr Howe going about casting doubts on the virtue of poor Olympia, who equally didn’t deserve it. So he exclaimed:

“Oh, do let us have a little common sense! Haven’t I explained everything?”

“No, you explained nothing at all,” Miss Peabody said. “In the first place, Miss Delamare was just as much astonished as I was to see Mrs. Kerr Howe here at all.”

“Of course, she
would
be,” the major said. “She had been gone from the room a long time. She naturally expected to find that Juliana would be gone when she came back. It wouldn’t have been proper for Juliana to be here alone without Flossie to chaperon her.”

“But why,” Olympia asked, “did Mrs. Kerr Howe hide behind the bed curtain if she hadn’t a guilty conscience?”

“Why, that,” the major said, “that’s because she has such a kind heart. Mrs. Kerr Howe has the kindest heart of any woman that I know. She hid behind the curtain in order to spare
your
blushes, Olympia. She thought you would have been embarrassed if you knew you were discovered coming to my room like this. Because, of course, it makes it so much worse your being engaged to me. So she hid behind the curtain so that you shouldn’t know she knew. That explains that.”

He didn’t in the least know how it happened, but suddenly he was aware of the voice of her Ladyship’s Own Maid, and that the white cap and strings and the white apron of Miss Jenkins were in the room. She was standing at the foot of the bed with her hands clasped before her, and her mysterious confidentially confident air of the really good servant who, being above all the vicissitudes and tragedies of this earth, can put everything right by a suggestion or two. And she was remarking in perfectly level tones:

“Wouldn’t it be much better, sir, just to tell the truth? I’m sure there’s nothing in the least wrong about the truth, sir.”

The major suddenly fell down again into his arm-chair.

“My God, Flossie!” he exclaimed; “you can take the screen away from the front of the fire again. She’s come by the secret door instead of the chimney!”

The high voice of Miss Peabody sounded in the room.

“Perhaps you will kindly explain your presence.” Miss Jenkins stood with her hands still down as if she were smoothing out her apron.

“Well, miss,” she said, “I am in charge of this house in the interests of her Ladyship, Mary Countess Savylle.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you’re here,” Miss Peabody repeated.

“Well, miss, you see, miss,” Miss Jenkins continued calmly, “I heard a great noise of quarrelling, if you’ll excuse me, miss, and so I came to see if you mightn’t be breaking the furniture over each other, if you’ll excuse my being so free, miss, since it’s my duty to look after the furniture. There are some very valuable things here in this room. Now this panel, for instance, I’m sure her Ladyship would be heartbroken if anything happened to this panel. For the painting, it’s by Van Dyke, and if one of you was to throw the other against it, it might be very bad for its works. It works like this, miss, don’t you see, miss?” And Miss Jenkins moved calmly towards the frame of the panel. The knob moved so easily that she appeared, in the gloom, merely to wave her hand and the panel no more to exist. Instead there was the brilliant light of Miss Delamare’s room shining in upon them all. The major exclaimed:

“Well now, that explains
everything
.”

But Miss Peabody merely answered:

“I am not a bit satisfied and nothing is explained.”

“But don’t you see,” the major asked, “that’s Flossie’s room — that’s how she came to be here.” Miss Peabody said icily:

“I quite understand that, Major Foster. It only makes it all the worse.”

Once more Miss Jenkins interposed:

“If I might make so bold, miss, as to ask you to listen to me, miss.”

“That you certainly may not,” Miss Peabody said. “I’m not used to being talked to by servants.”

“Of course, that’s your American way, miss,” Miss Jenkins said, with a calmness of extreme insolence, “you are so democratic. But this is England, miss, and you see I’m a sort of fostersister to the Countess. And she treating me just as if I were her equal, it makes me a little free in my speech with such old friends of the Countess as Major Foster is. So I hope you’ll pardon me, miss, if I ask you to think the best you can of Major Foster, for I’ll give you my word of honour, if you’ll take a servant’s word, being so American-like, and remembering that you’re in England, that the major is perfectly innocent, though apt to be a little frivolous in such things as explanations, miss.”