Part 86 (1/2)

Crofts, in his plain black, slightly obsolete evening dress, looking rather like a poor relation than a servant, had been in his day an aristocrat among servants. To-night he was old and alarmed. He had seen, when he announced the dinner, that he broke in upon some unusually desperate conflict, and his old heart fluttered with terror. He had heard so much gossip at the servants' table, such ribald comment and interchange of eavesdroppings, that he wondered what new stain threatened the old glory of Enslee.

He loved the new Mrs. Enslee. All the servants did--as much as they disliked Mr. Enslee. But they all felt that she was as dangerous in the house as a panther would have been in a wicker cage. And they all gossiped with other people's servants. And one of the maids, on her evenings off, was meeting a very attentive gentleman with brindle hair and half an eyebrow. She didn't know his business, but he was generous; he took her to tango-places, and he loved to hear her talk about her employers.

Suddenly Crofts lifted his head and threw Roake and Chedsey a glance of warning; they came to attention, each behind a chair, watching with narrow eyes where Persis slowly descended, as into a gorgeous dungeon, the three velveted steps leading down through the red-velvet-curtained golden portal.

First they saw Persis' slipper, a golden slipper on a slim, gold-silk stocking. Next the gleaming shaft of her white-satin skirt, with its wrinkles flas.h.i.+ng and folding round her knees; and then a rose-colored mist with glints of gold spangles; a few flowers fastened at her waist; the double loop of a long rope of pearls; then her wide, white bosom, with half the b.r.e.a.s.t.s revealed in the deep V between. And next her shoulders; her long throat, pa.s.sionate and bare save for one coil of pearl-rope; and then her high-held, resolute chin; her grim, red lips; her tense nostrils; her downcast eyelids; her brows; and, finally, the crown of diamonds sparkling in her hair.

Her velvet-m.u.f.fled footsteps grew faintly audible as her heels advanced with a soft tick-tock across the black-and-white chessboard of the marble floor. There was such a hush in the room that even her soft, short train made a whispering sound as it followed reluctantly after her.

Then Enslee's glistening black shoes appeared on the steps; his short legs; the black-rimmed bay of white waistcoat and s.h.i.+rt, and tie, and the high, choking collar, where his fat little head rested like a ball on a gate-post.

In the rich gloaming of the big room the table waited, a little altar alight and very beautiful with its lace and gla.s.s and silver and its candles gleaming upon strewn roses.

Overhead the ma.s.sive chandeliers hung dark from an ornate ceiling powdered with dull Roman gold. It was illuminated now only by the fretful glow of the fire slumbering beneath the carved mantel ravished from a bishop's palace in Spain.

In such a scene the audience of three servants awaited the performance of the polite comedy by the farceur and farceuse, who would pretend to leave their personal tragedies in the wings. The actors made their entrance with a processional formality, faced each other, and were about to be seated in the chairs the men had drawn back a little.

But the dignity vanished when the male buffoon, glancing at the array before him, broke out with a sharp whine:

”Where's my c.o.c.ktail?”

There was such a tw.a.n.g of temper in his voice that Crofts heard at once, and made a quick effort at placation.

”Very sorry, sir, but, the other servants being away, I was not able to learn just how you had it mixed, sir.”

”Just my luck!” Enslee snarled. ”When I need a bracer most I can't have one.” He shook his head so impatiently that Persis foresaw calamity and hastened to intervene.

”Let me make it for you, dear.”

Enslee threw her an ugly glance, and wanted to refuse, but could find no reason to give except the truth: that he hated to accept any more of her ministrations. And truth was the one thing that must be kept from these menials at all cost. So he said:

”Mighty nice of you.”

Persis went to the vast sideboard, and, while Crofts fussed about her, handing her the shaker, the ice, and bottle after bottle, she prepared the cup as if it were a mystic philter of love. She poured each ingredient into one of the gla.s.ses, and held it up to the light to make sure of the measure; then she emptied its contents into the shaker and filled it again from another bottle; and so when the square, squat flagon of gin, the longnecks of Italian and of French vermouth, and the flask of bitters, had contributed each its quota, she pondered aloud:

”That's all, isn't it?”

Willie, who had strolled to the sideboard in a kind of loathing fascination, spoke up:

”Here, barkeeper, you're forgetting the absinthe.”

”Oh yes,” she said, recalling his particular among the numberless formulas--”six drops of absinthe and twelve drops of lemon.”

Crofts pa.s.sed her the absinthe, and, finding a lemon, sliced it across and handed it to her on a plate. She held it over the shaker and, squeezing, counted the drops.

”Nine, ten, eleven, twelve--oh, there went the thirteenth! That's a bad omen.” She was so overwrought that a little genuine fear troubled her.

Enslee felt it, too, but would frighten the bogie with indifference:

”Hang the omen, so long as the c.o.c.ktail's not bad.”