VI.
He was in a large back drawing-room, of which the window, looking north,was in rich stained glass. "No doubt because they're ashamed of theview," he said to himself. The size of the chimneypiece impressed him,and also its rich carving. "But what an old-fashioned grate!" he saidto himself. "They need gilt radiators here." The doorway was a marvelof ornate sculpture, and he liked it. He liked too the effect of theoil-paintings--mainly portraits--on the walls, and the immensity of thebrass fender, and the rugs, and the leatherwork of the chairs. Butthere could be no question that the room was too dark for the taste ofany householder clever enough to know the difference between a house anda church.
There was a plunging noise at the door behind him.
"What's amiss?" he heard a woman's voice. And as he heard it he thrilledwith sympathetic vibrations. It was not a North Staffordshire voice,but it was a South Yorkshire voice, which is almost the same thing. Itseemed to him to be the first un-Kensingtonian voice to soothe his earssince he had left the Five Towns. Moreover, nobody born south of theTrent would have said, "What's amiss?" A Southerner would have said,"What's the matter?" Or, more probably, "What's the mattah?"
He turned and saw a breathless and very beautiful woman of abouttwenty-nine or thirty, clothed in black, and she was in the act ofremoving from her lovely head what looked like a length of red flannel.He noticed too, simultaneously, that she was suffering from a heavycold. A majestic footman behind her closed the door and disappeared.
"Are you Lady Woldo?" Edward Henry asked.
"Yes," she said. "What's this about my baby?"
"I've just seen him in Hyde Park," said Edward Henry. "And I observedthat a rash had broken out all over his face."
"I know that," she replied. "It began this morning, all of a suddenlike. But what of it? I was rather alarmed myself, as it's the firstrash he's had, and he's the first baby I've had--and he'll be the lasttoo. But everybody said it was nothing. He's never been out without mebefore, but I had such a cold. Now, you don't mean to tell me thatyou've come down specially from Hyde Park to inform me about that rash.I'm not such a simpleton as all that." She spoke in one long breath.
"I'm sure you're not," said he. "But we've had a good deal of rash inour family, and it just happens that I've got a remedy--a good, sound,north-country remedy, and it struck me you might like to know of it.So, if you like, I'll telegraph to my missis for the recipe. Here's mycard."
She read his name, title, and address.
"Well," she said, "it's very kind of you, I'm sure, Mr. Machin. I knewyou must come from up there the moment ye spoke. It does one good abovea bit to hear a plain north-country voice after all this fal-lalling."
She blew her lovely nose.
"Doesn't it!" Edward Henry agreed. "That was just what I thought when Iheard you say 'Bless us!' Do you know, I've been in London only atwo-three days, and I assure you I was beginning to feel lonely for abit of the Midland accent!"
"Yes," she said, "London's lonely!" and sighed.
"My eldest was bitten by a dog the other day," he went on in the vein ofgossip.
"Oh, don't!" she protested.
"Yes. Gave us a lot of anxiety. All right now! You might like to knowthat cyanide gauze is a good thing to put on a wound--supposing anythingshould happen to yours--"
"Oh, don't!" she protested. "I do hope and pray Robert will never bebitten by a dog. Was it a big dog?"
"Fair," said Edward Henry. "So his name's Robert! So's my eldest's!"
"Really now! They wanted him to be called Robert Philip Stephen DarrandPatrick. But I wouldn't have it. He's just Robert. I did have my ownway _there_! You know he was born six months after his father's death."
"And I suppose he's ten months now?"
"No; only six."
"Great Scott! He's big!" said Edward Henry.
"Well," said she, "he is. I am, you see."
"Now, Lady Woldo," said Edward Henry in a new tone, "as we're both fromthe same part of the country, I want to be perfectly straight and aboveboard with you. It's quite true--all that about the rash. And I _did_think you'd like to know. But that's not really what I came to see youabout. You understand, not knowing you, I fancied there might be somedifficulty in getting at you--"
"Oh, no!" she said simply. "Everybody gets at me."
"Well, I didn't know, you see. So I just mentioned the baby to beginwith, like!"
"I hope you're not after money," she said almost plaintively.
"I'm not," he said. "You can ask anybody in Bursley or Hanbridgewhether I'm the sort of man to go out on the cadge."
"I once was in the chorus in a panto at Hanbridge," she said. "Don'tthey call Bursley 'Bosley' down there--'owd Bosley'?"
Edward Henry dealt suitably with these remarks, and then gave her ajudicious version of the nature of his business, referring several timeto Mr. Rollo Wrissell.
"Mr. Wrissell!" she murmured, smiling.
"In the end I told Mr. Wrissell to go and bury himself," said EdwardHenry. "And that's about as far as I've got."
"Oh, don't!" she said, her voice weak from suppressed laughter, and thenthe laughter burst forth uncontrollable.
"Yes," he said, delighted with himself and her, "I told him to go andbury himself!"
"I suppose you don't like Mr. Wrissell?"
"Well--" he temporised.
"I didn't at first," she said. "I hated him. But I like him now,though I must say I adore teasing him. Mr. Wrissell is what I call agentleman. You know he was Lord Woldo's heir. And when Lord Woldomarried me it was a bit of a blow for him! But he took it like a lamb.He never turned a hair, and he was more polite than any of them. I daresay you know Lord Woldo saw me in a musical comedy at Scarborough--hehas a place near there, ye know. Mr. Wrissell had made him angry aboutsome of his New Thought fads, and I do believe he asked me to marry himjust to annoy Mr. Wrissell. He used to say to me, my husband did, thathe'd married me in too much of a hurry, and that it was too bad on Mr.Wrissell. And then he laughed, and I laughed too. 'After all,' he usedto say, my husband did, 'to marry an actress is an accident that mighthappen to any member of the House of Lords; and it does happen to a lotof 'em, but they don't marry anything as beautiful as you, Blanche,' heused to say. 'And you stick up for yourself, Blanche,' he used to say.'I'll stand by you,' he said. He was a straight 'un, my husband was.
"They left me alone until he died. And then they began--I mean _his_folks. And when Bobby was born it got worse. Only I must say even thenMr. Wrissell never turned a hair. Everybody seemed to make out that Iought to be very grateful to him, and I ought to think myself verylucky. Me--a peeress of the realm! They wanted me to change. But howcould I change? I was Blanche Wilmot, on the road for ten years,--nevergot a show in London,--and Blanche Wilmot I shall ever be, peeress or nopeeress! It was no joke being Lord Woldo's wife, I can tell you; andit's still less of a joke being Lord Woldo's mother. You imagine it.It's worse than carrying about a china vase all the time on a slipperyfloor. Am I any happier now than I was before I married? Well, I _am_!There's more worry in one way, but there's less in another. And ofcourse I've got Bobby! But it isn't all beer and skittles, and I let'em know it, too. I can't do what I like. And I'm just a sort of exile,you know. I used to enjoy being on the stage, and showing myself off.A hard life, but one does enjoy it. And one gets used to it. One getsto need it. Sometimes I feel I'd give anything to be able to go on thestage again--oh--oh--!"
She sneezed; then took breath.
"Shall I put some more coal on the fire?" Edward Henry suggested.
"Perhaps I'd better ring," she hesitated.
"No, I'll do it."
He put coal on the fire.
"And if you'd feel easier with that flannel round your head, please doput it on again."
"Well," she said, "I will. My mother used to say there was naught likered flannel for a cold."
With an actress'
skill she arranged the flannel, and from its encirclingfolds her face emerged bewitching--and she knew it. Her complexion hadsuffered in ten years of the road, but its extreme beauty could not yetbe denied. And Edward Henry thought: "All the _really_ pretty girlscome from the Midlands!"
"Here I am rambling on," she said. "I always was a rare rambler. Whatdo you want me to do?"
"Exert your influence," he replied. "Don't you think it's rather hardon Rose Euclid--treating her like this? Of course people say all sortsof things about Rose Euclid--"
"I won't hear a word against Rose Euclid," cried Lady Woldo. "Whenevershe was on tour, if she knew any of us were resting in the town whereshe was, she'd send us seats. And many's the time I've cried and criedat her acting. And then she's the life and soul of the TheatricalLadies' Guild."
"And isn't that your husband's signature?" he demanded, showing theprecious option.
"Of course it is."
He did not show her the covering letter.
"And I've no doubt my husband _wanted_ a theatre built there, and hewanted to do Rose Euclid a good turn. And I'm quite positive certainsure that he didn't want any of Mr. Wrissell's rigmaroles on his land.He wasn't that sort, my husband wasn't.... You must go to law aboutit," she finished.
"Yes," said Edward Henry protestingly. "And a pretty penny it wouldcost me! And supposing I lost, after all? ... You never know. There'sa much easier way than going to law."
"What is it?"
"As I say, you exert your influence, Lady Woldo. Write and tell themI've seen you and you insist--"
"Eh! Bless you! They'd twist me round their little finger. I'm not afool, but I'm not very clever; I know that. I shouldn't know whether Iwas standing on my head or my heels by the time they'd done with me.I've tried to face them out before--about things."
"Who, Mr. Wrissell or Slossons?"
"Both! Eh, but I should like to put a spoke in Mr. Wrissell's wheel,gentleman as he is. You see, he's just one of those men you can't helpwanting to tease. When you're on the road you meet lots of 'em."
"I tell you what you can do!"
"What?"
"Write and tell Slossons that you don't wish them to act for you anymore, and you'll go to another firm of solicitors. That would bring 'emto their senses."
"Can't! They're in the will. _He_ settled that. That's why they're sococky."
Edward Henry persisted, and this time with an exceedingly impressive andconspiratorial air:
"I tell you another thing you could do--you really _could_ do--and itdepends on nobody but yourself."
"Well," she said with decision, "I'll do it."
"Whatever it is?"
"If it's straight."
"Of course it's straight. And it would be a grand way of teasing Mr.Wrissell and all of 'em! A simply grand way! I should die oflaughing."
"Well--"
At this critical point the historic conversation was interrupted byphenomena in the hall which Lady Woldo recognised with feverishexcitement. Lord Woldo had safely returned from Hyde Park. Starting up,she invited Edward Henry to wait a little. A few moments later theywere bending over the infant together, and Edward Henry was offering hisviews on the cause and cure of rash.