Part 22 (1/2)
”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 n.o.bility and gentry and all.”
The woman was amazed to the extent of indiscretion. How did a lady's maid, daughter of the Breezys of Queen's Road, Bayswater, perform such a miracle? They were certainly topsy-turvy times, these.
And then Lola turned quickly and caught Mrs. Rumbold's arm. ”You are on your honor to say nothing about me to Lady Cheyne, remember, and if, by any chance, you mention my name, bear in mind that it is Madame de Breze. You understand?”
There was a moment's hesitation followed by a little gasp and a bow. ”I quite understand, Modum, and I thank you for your custom.”
But before Mrs. Rumbold returned to her workroom, in which the trunks looked more perky now, she remained where she stood for a moment and rolled her eyes.
”Well,” she asked herself, ”did you _ever_? Modum de Breze!-And she looks it too, and speaks it. My word, them orders! Blowed if the modern girl don't cop the current bun. It isn't for me to say anything, but for the sake of that nice little woman in the watchmaker's shop, I hope it's all right. That's all.-And now, your ladys.h.i.+p, what can I have the pleasure of doing for you, if you please? And thank you for comin', I'm sure. Times is that dull--”
VII
When Lola went into Feo's room that evening it was with the intention of asking for her first holiday. It was a large order; she knew that, because her mistress had made innumerable engagements for the week. But this was to be another and most important rung in that ladder, which, if not achieved, rendered useless the others that she had climbed.
She was overjoyed to find Feo in an excellent mood. Things had been going well. The world had been full of amus.e.m.e.nt and a new man had turned up, a pucca man this time, discovered at the Winchfields', constant in his attentions ever since. He owned a string of race horses and trained them at Dan Thirlwall's old place behind Worthing, which made him all the more interesting. Feo adored the excitement of racing.
And so it was easy for Lola to approach her subject and she did so at the moment when she had her ladys.h.i.+p in her power, the curling irons steaming. ”If you please, my lady,” she said, in a perfectly even voice and with her eyes on the black bobbed hair, ”would it be quite convenient for you if I had a week off from Thursday?”
”But what the devil does that matter?” said Feo. ”If I don't give you a week off, I suppose you'll take it.”
Lola's lips curled into a smile. It was impossible to resist this woman and her peculiar way of putting things. ”But I think you know me better than that,” she said, twining that thick wiry hair round the tongs as an Italian twines spaghetti round a fork.
”What makes you think so? I don't know you. I haven't the remotest idea what you're like. You never tell me anything. Ever since you've been with me you've never let me see under your skin once. I don't even believe that you're Breezy's niece. I've only her word for it. After Sunday morning's exhibition, I'm quite inclined to believe that you _are_ Madame de Breze masquerading as a lady's maid. If the War was still going on, I might think that you were a spy. A great idea for you to get into this house and pinch the papers of a Cabinet Minister. Yes, of course you can have a week off. What are you going to do? Get married, after all?”
Lola shook her head and the curl went away from her lips. ”I want to go down to the country for a little rest,” she said.
Something in the tone of Lola's voice caught Feo's ears. She looked sharply at her reflection in the gla.s.s and saw that the little face which had captured her fancy and become so familiar had suddenly taken on an expression of so deep a yearning as to make it almost unrecognizable. The wide-apart eyes burned with emotion, the red lips and those sensitive nostrils denoted a pent-up excitement that was startling. What was it that this strange, secretive child had made up her mind to do-to commit-to lose? ”There is love at the bottom of this,”
she said.
And Lola replied, ”Yes, my lady,” simply and with a sort of pride. And then took hold of herself, tight. If there had been any one person in all the world to whom she could have poured out her little queer story of all-absorbing love and desire to serve and comfort and inspire and entertain and rejuvenate-- But there wasn't one-and it was Mr.