“If I were her I wouldn’t be in my position. She could never love anyone but herself. But if I were her and wanted somebody, of course I’d take him.”
“I wonder why you haven’t.”
Mouse put out her cigarette and picked up a box of candles, she poked them into the clips Jasmine had fixed, throwing her an amused smile.
“It’s odd, but I suppose the truth is I’m too fond of you.”
Jasmine nodded.
“Comic, we should be fond of each other.”
Derwent lay on his back in bed, his eyes shut, waiting for the recently swallowed Horse’s Neck to kill or cure. Saunders, his man, went about the room quietly packing, but pausing now and again to glance in an experienced way at his master’s colour. The effect of the Horse’s Neck was good, he noted; that nasty greenish tint was wearing off, which was a comfort; with all there was to do, he had no time to be a ministering angel.
At last Derwent opened one eye.
“Don’t forget to pack some presents for the kids.”
“I haven’t, sir. I bought them yesterday, three boxes of chocolates, nut centres for Miss Meriel, and cream for Miss——” he stopped, hearing a groan from the bed.
“For God’s sake don’t describe ’em.”
“I didn’t get nothing for his Lordship or her Ladyship, sir, not havin’ no orders. And nothin’ for the other guests.”
“Uncle and Aunt wouldn’t appreciate a present, it hurts them to see me spend money. I don’t care a damn about the other guests. Did you think I was going to take something pretty for Mr. Ossie Bone?”
“No, sir, but I thought perhaps a little something for the ladies.”
“Miss Shane won’t want anything. Are there any other ladies?”
“Well, I was speaking to Mr. Sims on the telephone last night to say what time to send the car to meet you, and he says Miss Myra Lynd is expected, and Virginia the actress.”
Derwent sat up.
“Saunders, you’re pulling my leg, and that’s a dirty trick in my poor state of health.”
“No, I’m not, sir. Sims said they were most excited about it in ‘The Hall,’ most eager to see ’er they are. I hear she’s a great beauty.”
“I’ll say she is. What can Uncle and Aunt be doing with Virginia?”
“I couldn’t say, I’m sure, sir.”
Derwent lay down again, and closed his eyes, not because of nausea this time, but in meditation. There was a long silence. Then he asked:
“Nearly through, Saunders?”
“Just on, sir.”
“Then throw me my notecase.” He took it and pulled out a five-pound note.
“Almost my last, Saunders, but take it and go round to the Princess’s Theatre and bribe the doorkeeper to go up to Virginia’s dressing-room and find out what scent she uses, there’s sure to be some of it about. Then go and buy the best bottle you can get.”
“You’ll miss the two-thirty.”
“To hell with it, ring up Sims and tell him I’ll come on the later one. I don’t go till I’ve got that scent.”
Myra, her fur coat over a crimson frock, and emerald green hat pulled rakishly over one eye, a gold scarf round her neck, and ear-rings jangling against her shoulders, sat beside Jim, singing carols as they tore down the Great West Road.
“‘God rest you merry Gentlemen,’—oh, I do think there’s something very gay about going away for Christmas—‘Let nothing you dismay.’” She stopped suddenly. “I wonder you aren’t dismayed at the thought of Derwent meeting Virginia.”
“What harm can she do him? I hear she is exceptionally intacta.”
“But his money won’t be.”
“He hasn’t a bean.”
“Oh. ‘Hark the Herald angels sing——’ she’ll cut him dead then—‘Peace on earth and mercy mild——’ Jim,” she looked up at him slyly, “as we’re quite alone, and I’m renowned for my discretion; in spite of Mouse, don’t you get a kick at being under the same roof as that girl?”
He thought a moment and then laughed.
“Seeing it’s Christmas, yes, I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t.”
Flossie, a sable coat over perfectly cut tweeds, and a little brown hat set sideways on her almost white curls, lay in the back of Ossie’s Rolls-Royce. She was very comfortable and she should have been, both Ossie and the chauffeur having worked quite a while before they placed the cushions, rugs, and foot-warmer to her satisfaction. She had shut Ossie up when he tried to talk, saying she was tired after the show; the truth was she wanted to think. To-day was a triumph. She had intended to stay with the Mentons ever since she had known who Mouse’s friends were. She supposed the reason she had not been asked before was Mouse’s jealousy, she would be afraid of comparisons. But the Mentons wouldn’t stand for that for ever, they’d be keen to have her to stay, of course, so here she was at last. Mouse had seemed very surprised she was going, she hadn’t shown what she was feeling, but of course she was annoyed, and a bit worried. She had never wanted her to meet Lady Menton; seeing all she knew, she was scared she might talk. She had in the back of her mind that perhaps she would give just a little hint, it was all wrong the way people like Mouse got off scot-free, being as immoral as they liked; disgusting, that’s what it was. Nice face Lord Menton had, she wouldn’t mind having supper with him one night. Must be rich, didn’t seem to spend much on Mouse, still you could hardly expect it at her age, probably he’d given her quite a lot once. It was nice to be going to spend Christmas with a Lord, she was glad she’d let Mrs. Jones know, so that all the theatre would hear about it. Not but what Mrs. Jones was in such a nasty mood that she might keep it to herself just out of spite. A handkerchief and half a crown was a very decent Christmas present. Of course others gave pounds, but then some were silly enough to tip their dressers ten shillings every week; she wasn’t starting anything like that, might as well give away all your salary and be done with it. If some people knew what she’d got invested they’d be surprised. What with one man and another, funny if she couldn’t get her money well invested. She was glad Myra was coming, she thought the papers were not noticing her as much as they had, she’d get her to spread it round she’d spent Christmas with the Mentons, it would do the other Lords she knew good to hear about it. Of course they weren’t people like Jim Menton, only silly boys in the Guards with only one idea in their heads, and that not at all nice. They never asked you to their homes, they were even scared if they met their mothers when they were out with you, it was as if they were ashamed of knowing you. Ashamed! That was funny. If all she’d heard of the goings-on of these society girls was true, it ought to please the mothers that their sons knew a nice girl like her. Nobody could say she didn’t know how to behave. Of course, now and then she’d let somebody take a little liberty, but you couldn’t always help that with some of them so difficult. She was glad Ossie was coming too, though he wasn’t quite the sort you’d expect to meet in a house like that, though of course he went everywhere, being so rich. What was he going to give her for Christmas? A cheque would be best, but she wouldn’t mind a nice bit of jewellery. He knew she wanted an emerald ring, maybe he’d got her that. She’d snapped at him rather when he’d tried to talk. Poor Ossie, mustn’t hurt his feelings. She snuggled against him and looked up at him with a baby expression.
“Little Virginia’s tired, wants big st’ong man to west against.”
Ossie had not resented being silenced. ‘Poor little soul,’ he thought, ‘she’s tired.’ He looked contentedly at her, and the comforts of his car, and his chauffeur’s smartly uniformed back, and his own good clothes, and gave an inward chuckle. It would be a joke if some of the boys he’d been to school with could see him now, driving with the loveliest girl in London to spend Christmas with Lord and Lady Menton.
He had started life over a fried fish shop in a back street in Liverpool. His father ha
d been a drunkard and a wife-beater, and his mother a scared, broken-spirited drudge. Somehow in spite of these things Ossie, alone of all his family, had climbed out of the slime of his beginnings. At the age of twelve he had persuaded the owner of a freighter, London-bound, to carry him in exchange for his services. Sea-sick almost to unconsciousness he had stuck to his bargain and worked his way. The owner had been pleased at his pluck and before parting with him gave him half a crown. That half-crown represented the boy’s sole capital. Sleeping out he managed to exist on it for eight days until he got himself a job in Fleet Street as a printer’s devil. He never forgot the half-crown, and the result of it was a secret that got him a name for meanness. From the first year that he had touched success, he had given a tenth of all he earned to seamen’s charities. He did it anonymously, no one ever knew. His rise in the world had been comparatively slow, and his methods mainly doubtful, but the end was that he controlled one of the largest syndicates of newspapers in the country. His papers were made up of glaring headlines, mainly perversions of the truth, sheets for the women about Beauty Queens and what society wore at its last party, and one or two saccharine articles full of heart-throb, airing some supposed injustice. Ossie realised that many of his countrymen considered him a purveyor of filth, but why should he care when a far larger proportion counted him a god, and what he caused to be printed, pronouncements from Olympus? He was devoted to his newspapers and was at his happiest in his office where he was a big man and nobody ever forgot it. In the outer world he felt smaller. It was the fault of his beginnings, he could never get over them. Though he said the right things, and wore the right clothes, and was in the right places at the right times doing the right things, he never felt that people were being open with him, he suspected them of nudges behind his back: ‘Look at Ossie Bone, he thinks himself the hell of a fine fellow, but he can’t get away with it.’ He covered this uncertainty of soul with a dominating manner. He was a success with women, they liked being dominated, and he had the power to give any of them who could use publicity, a place in the sun. His inferiority complex had little chance to grow with them, he hardly ever made a serious overture unless he was more or less sure of success; he was a fortunate lover. Flossie was one of his few failures. He had met her after the first night of ‘Looby’ and convinced that she was a purchasable fruit, he had allowed himself to fall for her. The following Sunday he had made his usual overtures, he was a mite disheartened at his lack of success, but there was nothing in her excuses to make him think her refusal more than temporary. In spite of extreme generosity, and endless publicity, he had failed ever since, and had long ago given up hope of anything beyond the merest skirmishes on the outskirts of love. He took his defeat philosophically. The truth was, on two counts he found her sufficiently a pleasure to forgive her for the one withheld. Firstly he adored being seen about with her. It might be that she would eat with anyone who could fill her bag with notes, but it was certain that every young man in the restaurant envied him. So many men were struggling to meet her, and so many more had known her for just a short time and then, unable to keep up with her expectations, had faded away, that to be known as her one steady gave him a cachet. Besides, those who knew nothing supposed her to share with him more than his board. Very flattering he found that. His other pleasure was in her origin. It had taken him no time to realise that here was no princess masquerading as an actress, here was a girl from his own world of pease puddings, and fried fish in scraps of newspaper, and runs on Saturdays to the pawnbrokers and back with the things on Mondays. Never once did he tell her he knew her secret, but it made conversation between them very easy, he hated a woman he had to talk grand with, he liked them to understand a nudge, a squeeze and a wink. Flossie understood all those. Insensibly she relaxed when with Ossie, she knew they got on well together, but she never knew it was because they were both able to give up pretending. But not only because she was easy to be with did Ossie like her origin, she gave him confidence for his own life. Often he would look at her, sailing serenely through London, dining in restaurants full of nobs, carrying off the boloney about her royal parents, and never a sign she was scared. If a chit like that could get away with it so could he, Ossie Bone; they weren’t laughing at her, that he could see, maybe they weren’t laughing at him.
He liked to hear her talk baby stuff, and liked to feel her snuggle against him. He fumbled for her knee under the rug. She pushed his hand away.
“Naughty Ossie, dat’s not yours, dat’s ’ittle Virginia’s.”
“Oh come on, I only wanted a warm.”
She gave him a nudge with her elbow,
“I know what you mean.”
He put his arm round her waist.
“Who wants a Christmas present?”
She put her finger in her mouth.
“Is it a nice pwesent?”
“Wait till you open your stocking.”
She rubbed her face against his sleeve.
“Dear, kind, lubly Ossie.”
CHAPTER XV
Meriel through the mists of sleep heard Mary call her, then suddenly she remembered what day it was. She sat up.
“A happy Christmas, Mary.”
“A happy Christmas, Miss Meriel. Miss Burns said to remind you to get up right away.”
“I will.” The door shut on Mary. No harm in lying down again for just two more minutes. She snuggled into the sheets. Christmas Day. Oh, lovely! It had been more fun before she had been confirmed, so gay to wake up to that bulging stocking, to feel it slowly from the toe to the sprig of holly at the top, guessing all the way up what each bulge was, feeling the bulges in the other stockings too, and then opening them to see who was right. It did seem a shame she couldn’t have a stocking now because she went to church. Mummie said it would be sure to make her late. Of course it wouldn’t. She would just look at it before she went, and open it when she got back. Christmas after next Lucia would be coming to church too, and then it wouldn’t be so bad. It did seem mean that just because she’d been confirmed she had to get up early and the others lie in bed opening their stockings. There was a knock on the door, followed, before Meriel had time to protest, by Miss Burns.
“Merry Christmas, dear.” She came to the bed and kissed her. “Do get up or you’ll be late for church.”
Meriel said she would, and intended to keep her word, but she loitered a moment to see how high she could count while she could still hear the shuffle of Burnsie’s bedroom slippers going along the passage to the bathroom. She reached eight and a half and then the bathroom door shut. Must be awful to be Burnsie, she was glad she wouldn’t have to be a governess. It must be nice to be an actress like Virginia. It would be nice to do anything Virginia did. If she came to morning service she wondered whether she would let her sit next to her. She wished she had a Christmas present to give her, it was a pity she came so late that all the shopping was done. She had meant to stay awake until she came and then she had gone to sleep, but she had heard the voices on the stairs and had come out. Mummie and Mouse showing Virginia her room. Everybody had said she was beautiful, but she had not expected her to be as lovely as that. Just like somebody in a fairy story. It was exciting to think she was in the house. She did wish she had a present to give her. She wished she had another rose-tree like the one she had for Mummie, that would make a lovely present for her. What a pity she had posted Aunt Dora’s blotting pad, it would have made a nice present, all the paper different colours; even a person looking like Virginia must use blotting paper sometimes, though of course she wouldn’t have inky fingers or anything like that. Suddenly she heard the bathroom door open. She leapt out of bed. Goodness, that would be Burnsie finished her bath, that would mean she was almost ready, she always came very dressed out of the bathroom. Miss Burns stopped outside the door, “Nearly ready, Meriel? The car will be round in about seven minutes.” Thank goodness she hadn’t come in, even on Christmas day she’d have been cr
oss. As she dashed into her clothes she wondered which was the best for church when you were late, to wash a lot and hardly any teeth, or teeth done and no washing. She dragged on her clothes and pulled a comb through her hair, but for all her rush she had only just time to snatch up her hat, coat and gloves when the car hooted under her window. She jumped down the stairs three steps at a time. ‘Oh well, I’ll do the washing and teeth when I get back, I can’t really be dirty having had a bath last night.’
Derwent slept badly. He had thought himself in love twice in his life, the first time with a chorus girl and that had lasted eight months, and the second time with another chorus girl and that had lasted five months. Since these affairs and in between them were many ladies all of the type he admired, blonde, giggling, and very stupid. When Virginia had appeared last night he realised he had never been in love before. He had been excited at the thought of meeting her as who, having seen her on the stage, would not be, but only the excitement of meeting the much sought after beauty of the moment. Then she arrived. She wore a sable coat but she had taken off her hat and her hair seemed like the stuff made by the silkworms he used to keep. It was a quite ordinary meeting. ‘Virginia, this is my nephew.’ But it had sent all his world toppling. It seemed to him that in that second everything spun round and when it came to a standstill, nothing was the same. He, a most experienced young man in drawing-rooms, had in that second become a lout; he felt all hands, he was afraid to help Virginia off with her coat, she seemed so fragile he might bruise her. She had gone up to bed almost at once, and seeing there was no purpose in remaining if she were not there, he had gone to his bed, but to sleep only in spasms. He did not dislike his night, to wake with a start to see Virginia’s lovely face, to stare into the darkness marvelling that she could be under the same roof, staring until the walls almost dissolved so that he could see her as she must look asleep. The Christmas greeting of the parlourmaid who called him brought to mind the scent. How miserable a present it seemed, scent! The sort of thing any man might give her, on a par with cigarettes, chocolates, or gloves. That wretched fellow Ossie Bone with his damned proprietary air as if because he’d motored the girl down, he’d bought her, he’d probably got her something really nice. Jewellery perhaps. No, not jewellery, a girl like that would probably refuse jewellery from a fellow like Bone and quite right too. Still, whatever he was giving her it was sure to be better than scent. He heard the car drive up and the early churchers go off; better get up, perhaps Virginia would come down for breakfast. He dismissed the thought; it was obvious a girl like that had never come down to breakfast in her life. Such a comfort to see a delicate fragile girl for once who looked as if she might have been grown in a greenhouse, he was tired of all these women at their everlasting games with faces like shoe leather. Lying in his bath he thought of all he might have done to make his scent more personal if it had not been Christmas Day and he in the depths of the country. He would have fixed a spray of orchids to it—no, not orchids, lilies, simple flowers would be best for her, orchids were for the sophisticated and artificial.
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