Part 2 (2/2)
”You should lead, not serve,” he said, quoting from one of his masters.
And that was all he could manage. Lola,-a servant! They turned into Bond Street in which all the suburban ladies who were not enjoying the matinees were gluing their noses to the shop windows. Ernest Treadwell was unfamiliar with this part of London. He preferred the democratic Strand when he could get away from his duties. He felt more and more sheepish and self-conscious as Lola drew up instinctively at every shop in which corsets were displayed and diaphanous underwear spread out. The silk stockings on extremely well-shaped wooden legs she admired extremely and desired above all things. The bootmakers' shops also came in for her close attention. The little French shoes with high vamps and stubby noses drew exclamations of delight and envy. Several spots on the window of Aspray's bore the impression of her nose before she could tear herself away. A set of dressing-table things made of gold and tortoisesh.e.l.l made her eyes widen and her lips part. Ernest Treadwell would willingly have sacrificed all his half-baked socialism to be able to buy any one of those things for Lola.
Finally they came to Dover Street, that oasis in the heart of Mayfair where even yet certain houses remain untouched by the hand of trade. The Fallaray house was on the sunny side, where it stood gloomily with frowning windows and an uninviting door. It was the oldest house in the street and wore its octogenarian appearance without camouflage. It had belonged originally to the Throgmorton family upon whom Fate had laid a hoodoo. The last of the line was glad to sell it to Fallaray's grandfather, the cotton man. What he would have said if he could have returned to his old haunts, opened his door with his latch key and walked in to find Lady Feo and her gang G.o.d only knows.
It was well known to Lola. Many times she had walked up and down Dover Street in order to gaze at the windows behind which she thought that Fallaray might be sitting, and several times she had been into her aunt's rooms which overlooked the narrow yards of Bond Street.
”Wait for me here, Ernest,” she said. ”I don't think I shall be very long. If I'm more than half an hour, give me up and we'll have another afternoon later on.”
She waved her hand, went down the area steps and rang the bell. Ernest Treadwell, to whom the house had taken on a sinister appearance, sloped off with rounded shoulders and a tight mouth. They might have been in Hampton Court looking at the crocuses.-Lola,-a servant. Good G.o.d!
VIII
Albert Simpkins opened the door.
It wasn't his job to open doors, because he was a valet. But it so happened that he was the only person in the servants' quarters who was not either dressing, lying down after a heavy lunch or out to enjoy an hour's fresh air.
”Miss Breezy, please,” said Lola.
Simpkins gasped. If he had been pa.s.sing through the hall and a footman had opened the front door to this girl he would have slipped into a dark corner to watch her enter, believing that she had come to visit Lady Feo. He knew a thoroughbred when he saw one. That she should have come to the area of all places seemed to him to be irregular, not in conformity with the rules of social rect.i.tude which were his religion.
All the same he thrilled, and like every other man who caught sight of Lola and stood near enough to catch the indefinable scent of her hair, stumbled over his words.
Lola repeated her remark and gave him a vivid friendly smile. If she carried her point with her aunt presently, this man would certainly be useful. ”If you will please come in,” said Simpkins, ”I'll go and see if Miss Breezy's upstairs. What name shall I say?”
”Lola Breezy.”
”Miss Lola Breezy. Thank you.” He paused for a moment to bask, and then with a little bow in which he acknowledged her irresistible and astonis.h.i.+ng effect, disappeared,-valet stamped upon his respectability like a Cunard label on a suit case.
Lola chuckled and remained standing in the middle of what was used by the servants as a sitting room. How easy it was, with her gift, to shatter men's few senses. She knew the place well,-its pictures of Queen Victoria and of famous race horses cut from ill.u.s.trated papers cheaply framed and its snapshots of the gardens of Chilton Park, Whitecross, Bucks. Discarded books of all sorts were piled up on various tables.
_The Spectator_ and _The New Statesman_, Ma.s.singham's peevish weekly, _Punch_, _The Sketch_ and _The Tatler_, _Eve_ and the _Bystander_, which had come downstairs from the higher regions, were scattered here and there. They had been read and commented upon first by the butler and then downwards through all the gradations of servants to the girl who played galley slave to the cook. Lola wondered how long it would be before she also would be spending her spare time in that room, hobn.o.bbing with the various members of the family below stairs. A few days, perhaps, not more,-now that she had fastened on this plan.
Simpkins returned almost immediately. ”If you will follow me,” he said, and gave her an alluring smile which disclosed a row of teeth that were peculiarly English. He led the way along a narrow pa.s.sage up the back staircase and out upon a wide and imposing corridor, hung with Flemish tapestry and old portraits, which appealed to Lola's sense of the decorative and sent her head up with a tilt of proprietors.h.i.+p. This was her atmosphere. This was the corridor along which her imaginary sycophants had pa.s.sed so often to her room in Queen's Road, Bayswater.
”We're not supposed to go through here,” said Simpkins, eager to talk, ”except on duty. But it's a short cut to the housekeeper's quarters and there's no one in to catch us. You look well against that hanging,” he added. ”Like a picture in the Academy,”-which to him was the Temple of Art.
A door opened and there were heavy footsteps.
”Look out. The governor.” He seized Lola's arm and in a panic drew her into the shadow of a large armoire.
Her heart jumped into her mouth!-It was her hero in the flesh, the man at whose feet she had wors.h.i.+pped,-within a few inches of her, walking slowly, with his hands behind his back, his mouth compressed and a sort of hit-me-why-don't-you in his eye. Still with Simpkins's hand upon her arm she slipped out,-not to be seen, not with any thought of herself, but to watch Fallaray stride along the corridor; and get the wonder of a first look.
A door banged and he was gone.
”A pretty near thing,” said Simpkins. ”It always happens like that. I don't suppose he would have noticed us. Mostly he sees nothing but his thoughts,-looks inwards, I mean. But rules is rules. He lives in that wing of the 'ouse,-has a library and a bedroom there and another room fitted up as a gym where he goes through exercises to keep hisself fit.
Give 'im enough in the House to keep 'im fit, you'd think, wouldn't yer?
A wonderful man.-Come on, Miss, nick through here.” He opened a door, ran lightly up a short flight of stairs and came back again into the servant's pa.s.sage. ”'Ere you are,” he said and smiled brilliantly, putting in, as he thought, good work. This girl--! ”I'll be glad to see you 'ome,” he added anxiously.
Lola said, ”Thank you, but I have some one waiting for me,” and entered.
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