Part 34 (1/2)
Miss Cronin was thoroughly well trained, and seldom asked any questions.
She had long ago been carefully taught that the duty of a _dame de compagnie_ consisted solely in being alive in a certain place--the place selected for her by the person she was _dame de compagnie_ to. It was, after all, an easy enough profession so long as a beneficent Providence permitted your heart to beat and your lungs to function. The place at present was Claridge's Hotel. She had nothing to do except to lie comfortably in bed there. And this small feat, well within her competence, she was now accomplis.h.i.+ng with complete satisfaction to herself. She took a happy sip of her camomile tea and added:
”But I know you always do that. You have such a wide choice and are so clever in selection.”
Miss Van Tuyn slightly frowned.
”There isn't such a wide choice in London as there is in Paris,” she said rather morosely.
”I dare say not. Paris is much smaller than London, but much cleverer, I think. Where would you find an author like Bourget among the English?
Which of _them_ could have written '_Mensonges_'? Which of _them_ could--”
”I know, dear, I know! They haven't the bite. That is what you mean.
They have only the bark.”
”Exactly! And when one sits down to a book--”
”Just so, dear. The dog that can only bark is a very dull dog. I saw a wonderful dog the other day that looked as if it could bite.”
”Indeed! In London?”
”Yes. But I'm sure it wasn't English.”
”Was it a poodle?”
”No, quite the contrary.”
f.a.n.n.y Cronin looked rather vague. She was really trying to think what dog was quite the contrary of a poodle, but, after the Channel, her mind was unequal to the effort. So she took another sip of the camomile tea and said:
”What colour was it?”
”It was all brown like a brown bronze. Well, good night, f.a.n.n.y.”
”Good night, dear. I really wish you would read '_Mensonges_' again when I have finished with it. One cannot read over these masterpieces too often.”
”You shall lend it me.”
She went out of the room, and f.a.n.n.y Cronin settled comfortably down once more to the competent exercise of her profession.
It was now nearly eight o'clock. Miss Van Tuyn went to her bedroom. She had a maid with her, but she did not ring for the woman. Instead she shut her door, and began to ”do” things for herself. She began by taking off her gown and putting on a loose wrapper. Then she sat down before the dressing-table and changed the way in which her corn-coloured hair was done, making it sit much closer to the head than before, and look much less striking and conspicuous. The new way of doing her hair changed her appearance considerably, made her less like a Ceres and more like a Puritan. When she was quite satisfied with her hair she got out of her wrapper, and presently put on an absolutely plain black coat and skirt, a black hat which came down very low on her forehead, a black veil and black suede gloves. Then she took a tightly furled umbrella with an ebony handle out of her wardrobe, picked up her purse, unlocked her door and stepped out into the lobby.
Her French maid appeared from somewhere. She was a rather elderly woman with a clever, but not unpleasantly subtle, face. Miss Van Tuyn said a few words to her in a low voice, opened the lobby door and went out.
She took the lift, glided down, walked slowly and carelessly across the hall and pa.s.sed out by the swing door.
”A taxi, madam?” said the commissionaire in livery.
She shook her head and walked away down Brook Street in the direction of Grosvenor Square.
As Craven had predicted it was a fine clear night, dry underfoot, starry overhead. If Miss Van Tuyn had had with her a chosen companion she would have enjoyed her walk. She was absolutely self-possessed, and thoroughly capable of taking care of herself. No terrors of London affected her spirit. But she was angry and bored at being alone. She felt almost for the first time in her life neglected and even injured. And she was determined to try to find out whether her strong suspicions about Lady Sellingworth and Craven were well founded. If really Craven was giving a dinner somewhere, and Lady Sellingworth was dining with friends somewhere else, she had no special reason for irritation. She might possibly be mistaken in her unpleasant conviction that both of them had something to do which they preferred to dining with her. But if they were dining together and alone she would know exactly how things were between them. For neither of them had done what would surely have been the natural thing to do if there were no desire for concealment; neither of them had frankly stated the truth about the dinner.
”If they are dining together they don't wish me to know it,” Miss Van Tuyn said to herself, as she walked along Grosvenor Square and turned down Carlos Place. ”For if I had known it they might have felt obliged to invite me to join them, as I was inviting them, and as I was the one who introduced Adela Sellingworth to the _Bella Napoli_.”