III.
At the end of an extensive stroll through and round his new vast domain,he had come to no decision upon a course of action. Certain details ofthe strange adventure pleased him--as for instance the dandy's welcomingrecognition of his name; that, though puzzling, was a source of comfortto him in his difficulties. He also liked the suite; nay more, he wasmuch impressed by its gorgeousness, and such novel complications as theforked electric switches, all of which he turned on, and the doublewindows, one within the other, appealed to the domestic expert in him;indeed, he at once had the idea of doubling the window of the bestbedroom at home; to do so would be a fierce blow to the Five TownsElectric Traction Company, which, as everybody knew, delighted to keepeverybody awake at night and at dawn by means of its late and its earlytram-cars. However, he could not wander up and down the glitteringsolitude of his extensive suite for ever. Something must be done. Thenhe had the notion of writing to Nellie; he had promised himself to writeto her daily; moreover, it would pass the time and perhaps help him tosome resolution.
He sat down to a delicate Louis XVI desk on which lay a Bible, aPeerage, a telephone-book, a telephone, a lamp, and much distinguishedstationery. Between the tasselled folds of plushy curtains that pleatedthemselves with the grandeur of painted curtains in a theatre, heglanced out at the lights of Devonshire Square, from which not a soundcame. Then he lit the lamp and unscrewed his fountain pen.
"My dear wife--"
That was how he always began, whether in storm or sunshine. Nelliealways began, "My darling husband"; but he was not a man to flingdarlings about. Few husbands in the Five Towns are. He thought"darling," but he never wrote it, and he never said it, save quizzingly.
After these three words the composition of the letter came to a pause.What was he going to tell Nellie? He assuredly was not going to tellher that he had engaged an unpriced suite at Wilkins's. He was notgoing to mention Wilkins's. Then he intelligently perceived that thenote-paper and also the envelope mentioned Wilkins's in no ambiguousmanner. He tore up the sheet and searched for plain paper. Now, on thedesk there was the ordinary hotel stationery, mourning stationery,cards, letter-cards, and envelopes for every mood; but not a piece thatwas not embossed with the historic name in royal blue. The whichappeared to Edward Henry to point to a defect of foresight on the partof Wilkins's. At the gigantic political club to which he belonged, andwhich he had occasionally visited in order to demonstrate to himself andothers that he was a club-man, plain stationery was everywhere providedfor the use of husbands with a taste for reticence. Why not atWilkins's also?
On the other hand, why should he not write to his wife on Wilkins'spaper? Was he afraid of his wife? He was not. Would not the newsultimately reach Bursley that he had stayed at Wilkins's? It would.Nevertheless, he could not find the courage to write to Nellie onWilkins's paper.
He looked around. He was fearfully alone. He wanted the companionship,were it only momentary, of something human. He decided to have a lookat a flunkey, and he rang a bell.
Immediately, just as though wafted thither on a magic carpet, from thecourt of Austria, a gentleman in waiting arrived in the doorway of thedrawing-room, planted himself gracefully on his black silk calves, andbowed.
"I want some plain note-paper, please."
"Very good, sir." Oh! Perfection of tone and of mien!
Three minutes later the plain note-paper and envelopes were beingpresented to Edward Henry on a salver. As he took them, he lookedenquiringly at the gentleman in waiting, who supported his gaze with animpenetrable, invulnerable servility. Edward Henry, beaten off withgreat loss, thought: "There's nothing doing here just now in the humancompanionship line," and assumed the mask of a hereditary prince.
The black calves carried away their immaculate living burden, set aboveall earthly ties.
He wrote nicely to Nellie about the weather and the journey, andinformed her also that London seemed as full as ever, and that he mightgo to the theatre, but he wasn't sure. He dated the letter from theMajestic.
As he was finishing it, he heard mysterious, disturbing footfalls in hisprivate corridor, and after trying for some time to ignore them, he wasforced by a vague alarm to investigate their origin. A shortmiddle-aged, pallid man, with a long nose and long moustaches, wearing ared and black-striped sleeved waistcoat and a white apron, was in thecorridor. At the Turk's Head such a person would have been the boots.But Edward Henry remembered a notice under the bell, advising visitorsto ring once for the waiter, twice for the chambermaid, and three timesfor the valet. This, then, was the valet. In certain picturesquedetails of costume Wilkins's was coquettishly French.
"What is it?" he demanded.
"I came to see if your luggage had arrived, sir. No doubt your servantis bringing it. Can I be of any assistance to you?"
The man thoughtfully twirled one end of his moustache. It was anappalling fault in demeanour; but the man was proud of his moustache.
"The first human being I've met here!" thought Edward Henry, attractedtoo by a gleam in the eye of this eternal haunter of corridors.
"His servant!" He saw that something must be done, and quickly.Wilkins's provided valets for emergencies, but obviously it expectedvisitors to bring their own valets in addition. Obviously existencewithout a private valet was inconceivable to Wilkins's.
"The fact is," said Edward Henry, "I'm in a very awkward situation." Hehesitated, seeking to and fro in his mind for particulars of thesituation.
"Sorry to hear that, sir."
"Yes, a very awkward position." He hesitated again. "I'd bookedpassages for myself and my valet on the _Minnetonka_, sailing fromTilbury at noon to-day, and sent him on in front with my stuff, and atthe very last moment I've been absolutely prevented from sailing! Yousee how awkward it is! I haven't a thing here."
"It is indeed, sir! And I suppose _he's_ gone on, sir?"
"Of course he has! He wouldn't find out till after she sailed that Iwasn't on board. You know the crush and confusion there is on those bigliners just before they start." Edward Henry had once assisted, undervery dramatic circumstances, at the departure of a transatlantic linerfrom Liverpool.
"Just so, sir!"
"I've neither servant nor clothes!" He considered that so far he wasdoing admirably. Indeed, the tale could not have been bettered, hethought. His hope was that the fellow would not have the idea ofconsulting the shipping intelligence in order to confirm the departureof the _Minnetonka_ from Tilbury that day. Possibly the _Minnetonka_never had sailed and never would sail from Tilbury. Possibly she hadbeen sold years ago. He had selected the first ship's name that cameinto his head. What did it matter?
"My man," he added to clinch--the proper word "man" had only justoccurred to him--"my man can't be back again under three weeks at thesoonest."
The valet made one half-eager step towards him.
"If you're wanting a temporary valet, sir, my son's out of a place forthe moment--through no fault of his own. He's a very good valet, sir,and soon learns a gentleman's ways."
"Yes," said Edward Henry judiciously. "But could he come at once?That's the point." And he looked at his watch, as if to imply thatanother hour without a valet would be more than human nature couldstand.
"I could have him round here in less than an hour, sir," said the hotelvalet, comprehending the gesture. "He's at Norwich Mews--BerkeleySquare way, sir."
Edward Henry hesitated.
"Very well, then!" he said commandingly. "Send for him. Let me seehim."
He thought:
"Dash it! I'm at Wilkins's--I'll be _at_ Wilkins's!"
"Certainly, sir! Thank you very much, sir."
The hotel valet was retiring when Edward Henry called him back.
"Stop a moment. I'm just going out. Help me on with my overcoat, willyou?"
The man jumped.
"And you might get me a tooth-brush," Edward Henry airily suggested."And I've a l
etter for the post."
As he walked down Devonshire Square in the dark, he hummed a tune:certain sign that he was self-conscious, uneasy, and yet not unhappy.At a small but expensive hosier's in a side street he bought a shirt anda suit of pajamas, and also permitted himself to be tempted by a specialjob line of hair-brushes that the hosier had in his fancy department. Onhearing the powerful word "Wilkins's," the hosier promised withpassionate obsequiousness that the goods should be delivered instantly.
Edward Henry cooled his excitement by an extended stroll, and finallyre-entered the outer hall of the hotel at half-past seven, and sat downtherein to see the world. He knew by instinct that the boldest loungesuit must not at that hour penetrate further into the public rooms ofWilkins's.
The world at its haughtiest was driving up to Wilkins's to eat itsdinner in the unrivalled restaurant, and often guests staying at thehotel came into the outer hall to greet invited friends. And EdwardHenry was so overfaced by visions of woman's brilliance and man's uttercorrectness that he scarcely knew where to look--so apologetic was hefor his grey lounge suit and the creases in his boots. In less than aquarter of an hour he appreciated with painful clearness that his entireconception of existence had been wrong, and that he must begin again atthe beginning. Nothing in his luggage at the Majestic would do. Hissocks would not do, nor his shoes, nor the braid on his trousers, norhis cuff-links, nor his ready-made white bow, nor the number of studs inthe shirt-front, nor the collar of his coat. Nothing! Nothing!To-morrow would be a full day.
He ventured apologetically into the lift. In his private corridor ayoung man respectfully waited, hat in hand, the paternal red-and-blackwaistcoat by his side for purposes of introduction. The young man waswearing a rather shabby blue suit, but a rich and distinguished overcoatthat fitted him ill. In another five minutes Edward Henry had engaged askilled valet, aged twenty-four, name Joseph, with a testimonial ofefficiency from Sir Nicholas Winkworth, Bart., at a salary of a pound aweek and all found.
Joseph seemed to await instructions. And Edward Henry was placed in anew quandary. He knew not whether the small bedroom in the suite wasfor a child, or for his wife's maid, or for his valet. Quite probablyit would be a sacrilegious defiance of precedent to put a valet in thesmall bedroom. Quite probably Wilkins's had a floor for private valetsin the roof. Again, quite probably, the small bedroom might be afterall specially destined for valets! He could not decide, and the mostprecious thing in the universe to him in that crisis was his reputationas a man about town in the eyes of Joseph.
But something had to be done.
"You'll sleep in this room," said Edward Henry, indicating the door. "Imay want you in the night."
"Yes, sir," said Joseph.
"I presume you'll dine up here, sir," said Joseph, glancing at thelounge suit. His father had informed him of his new master'spredicament.
"I shall," said Edward Henry. "You might get the menu."