III
At the end of an extensive stroll through and round his new vastdomain, he had come to no decision upon a course of action. Certaindetails of the strange adventure pleased him--as, for instance, thedandy's welcoming recognition of his name; that, though puzzling,was a source of comfort to him in his difficulties. He also liked thesuite; nay, more, he was much impressed by its gorgeousness, and suchnovel complications as the forked electric switches, all of which heturned on, and the double windows, one within the other, appealedto the domestic expert in him; indeed, he at once had the idea ofdoubling the window of the best bedroom at home; to do so would bea fierce blow to the Five Towns Electric Traction Company, which, aseverybody knew, delighted to keep everybody awake at night and at dawnby means of its late and its early tram-cars.
However, he could not wander up and down the glittering solitude ofhis extensive suite for ever. Something must be done. Then he hadthe notion of writing to Nellie; he had promised himself to write herdaily; moreover, it would pass the time and perhaps help him to someresolution.
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 thatpleated themselves with the grandeur of painted curtains in a theatre,he glanced out at the lights of Devonshire Square, from which not asound came. 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 fling"darlings" about. Few husbands in the Five Towns are. He thought"darling," but he never wrote it, and he never said it, savequizzingly.
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 the desk there was the ordinary hotel stationery, mourningstationery, cards, letter-cards and envelopes for every mood; but nota piece that was not embossed with the historic name in royal blue.The which appeared to Edward Henry to point to a defect of foresighton the part of Wilkins's. At the gigantic political club to whichhe belonged, and which he had occasionally visited in order todemonstrate to himself and others that he was a clubman, plainstationery was everywhere provided for the use of husbands with ataste for reticence. Why not at Wilkins'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 the 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 lookedinquiringly at the gentleman-in-waiting, who supported his gaze withan impenetrable, 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, setabove all 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 hemight go to the theatre but he wasn't sure. He dated the letter fromthe Majestic.
As he was finishing it he heard mysterious, disturbing footfalls inhis private corridor, and after trying for some time to ignore them,he was forced by a vague alarm to investigate their origin. A short,middle-aged, pallid man, with a long nose and long moustaches, wearinga red-and-black-striped sleeved waistcoat and a white apron, was inthe corridor. At the Turk's Head such a person would have been theboots. But Edward Henry remembered a notice under the bell, advisingvisitors to ring once for the waiter, twice for the chambermaid,and three times for the valet. This, then, was the valet. In certainpicturesque details 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."He hesitated, seeking to and fro in his mind for particulars of thesituation.
"Sorry to hear that, sir."
"Yes, a very awkward situation." 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 thosebig liners just before they start." Edward Henry had once assisted,under very dramatic circumstances, at the departure of a Transatlanticliner from 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," saidthe hotel-valet, comprehending the gesture. "He's at NorwichMews--Berkeley Square 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 letter for the post."
As he walke
d 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 shirtand a suit of pyjamas, and also permitted himself to be tempted bya special job line of hair-brushes that the hosier had in his fancydepartment. On hearing the powerful word "Wilkins's," the hosierpromised with passionate obsequiousness that the goods should bedelivered instantly.
Edward Henry cooled his excitement by an extended stroll, and finallyre-entered the outer hall of the hotel at half-past seven, and satdown therein to see the world. He knew by instinct that the boldestlounge-suit must not at that hour penetrate further into the publicrooms of Wilkins'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'sutter correctness that he scarcely knew where to look--so apologeticwas he for his grey lounge-suit and the creases in his boots. In lessthan a quarter of an hour he appreciated with painful clearness thathis entire conception of existence had been wrong, and that he mustbegin again at the beginning. Nothing in his luggage at the Majesticwould do. His socks would not do, nor his shoes, nor the braid on histrousers, nor his cuff-links, nor his ready-made white bow, northe number of studs in his 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 manwas wearing a rather shabby blue suit, but a rich and distinguishedovercoat that fitted him ill. In another five minutes Edward Henryhad engaged a skilled valet, aged twenty-four, name Joseph, with atestimonial of efficiency from Sir Nicholas Winkworth, Bart., at asalary of a pound a week 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 themost precious thing in the universe to him in that crisis was hisreputation as 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."I may 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's predicament.
"I shall," said Edward Henry. "You might get the menu."