Miss Million's Maid: A Romance of Love and Fortune

  CHAPTER XII

  THE DAY OF THE PARTY

  TO-DAY'S the day!

  At four o'clock those two young men are coming to the Hotel Cecil, wherefor the first time it will be a case of "Miss Million at home."

  And to begin with Miss Million and her maid have had quite a fierceargument.

  I knew it was coming. I scented it afar off as soon as Million had sentoff her formal little note (dictated by me) to the Hon. James Burke atthis hotel.

  As soon as we had settled which of all her new gowns the little hostesswas going to wear for this event she turned to me. Obviously suppressingthe "Miss Beatrice," which still lingers on the tip of her tongue,Million asked: "And what are you goin' to put on?"

  "Put on?" I echoed with well-simulated surprise, for I knew perfectlywhat she meant. I braced myself to be firm, and took the bull by thehorns.

  "I shan't have to 'put on' anything, you see," I explained. "I shallalways be just as I am in this black frock and this darling littlefrilly apron, and the cap that I really love myself in. You can't say itdoesn't suit me, Mill----, Miss Million."

  The scandalised Million stared at me as we stood there in her hotelbedroom; a sturdy, trim little dark-haired figure in her new princessepetticoat that showed her firmly developed, short arms, helping me toput away the drifts of superfluous tissue-paper that had enwrapped hertrousseau. I myself had never been so well dressed as in this daintyblack-and-white livery.

  She exclaimed in tones of horror: "But you can't sit down to afternoontea with two young gentlemen in your cap and apron!"

  "Of course not. I shan't be sitting down with them at all."

  "What?"

  "I shan't be having tea with you in the drawing-room," I explained."Naturally I shall not appear this afternoon."

  "Wha--what'll you do, then?"

  "What does a good lady's-maid do? Sit in her bedroom, sorting hermistress's new lingerie and sewing name-tapes on to her mistress's silkstockings----"

  "What! And leave me alone, here?" remonstrated my mistress shrilly. "Mesit here by myself with those two young gentlemen, one of them aHonourable and a perfect stranger to me, and me too nervous to so muchas ask them if they like one lump or two in their cups of tea? Oh, no! Icouldn't do it----"

  "You'll have to," I said. "Ladies'-maids do not entertain visitors withtheir employers."

  "But----'Tisn't as if I was an ordinary employer! 'Tisn't as if you wasan ordinary lady's-maid!"

  "Yes, it is, exactly."

  "But--they'll know you aren't. Why, that young Mr. Reginald Brace, himfrom the bank, he knows as well as you do who you are at home!"

  "That has nothing to do with him, or with your tea-party."

  "I don't want no tea-party if I'm goin' to be left all on me own, andnobody to help me talk to that Honourable," Million protested almosttearfully. "Lor'! If I'd a known, I'd never have said the gentlemencould come!"

  "Nonsense," I laughed. "You'll enjoy it."

  "'Enjoy!' Oh, Miss--Smith! Enjoyment and me looks as if we was going tobe strangers," declared Million bitterly. "I don't see why you couldn'toblige a friend, and come in to keep the ball a-rollin', you that knowthe go of Society, and that!"

  "I'm sure it's not the go of Society to have in the lady's-maid to helpamuse the visitors. Not in the drawing-room, at all events."

  "But if I ask you----"

  "If you ask me to do things that are 'not my place,' Miss Million," Isaid firmly, "I shall give you notice. I mean it."

  This awful threat had its effect.

  Million heaved one more gusty sigh, cast one more reproachful glance ather rebellious maid, and dropped the subject.

  Thank goodness!

  I shall miss this weird and unparalleled party, but I shall hear allabout it at second-hand after that amazingly contrasted couple of youngmen has departed.

  It's ten minutes to four now.

  I have "set the scene" perfectly for this afternoon's festivity. Ahotel sitting-room can never look like a home room. But I've done mybest with flowers, and new cushions, and a few pretty fashion journalslittered about; also several new novels that I made Million buy, becauseI simply must read them. Yes, I've arranged the room. I've arranged thecarnations. (I hope Mr. Burke will think they look nice.) I've arrangedthe tea; dainty Nile-green cakes from Gunter's, and chocolates andcigarettes. I've arranged the trembling little hostess.

  "Good-bye, Miss Million," I said firmly, as I prepared to depart. "Youneedn't be nervous; you look very nice in the white French muslin withthe broad grey-blue ribbon to match your best feature, your eyes. Verysuccessful."

  "Looks so plain, to me," objected little Million unhappily. "You mighthave let me put on something more elabyrinth. Nobody'd ever believe I'dbeen and gone and given as much as fifteen guineas for this thing."

  "Anybody would know, who knew anything," I consoled her. "And I'll tellyou one thing. A man like Mr. Burke knows everything. Give him mylove--no. Mind you don't!"

  "I shall be too scared to say a word to him," began Million, whimpering."You might----" I shut the door.

  I went into my room across the corridor and prepared to spend a quiet,useful, self-effacing afternoon with my work-basket and my employer'snew "pretties."

  LATER.

  What a different afternoon it has turned out to be!

  I suppose it was about twenty minutes later, but scarcely had Iembroidered the first white silken "M" on Million's new crepe-de-chine"nightie" than there was a light tap at my door. I thought it was my owntea.

  "Come in," I called.

  Enter the sandy-haired, middle-aged chamber-maid. She stood, lookingmightily perplexed.

  Well, I suppose we are rather a perplexing proposition! Two girls oftwenty-three, turning up at the Hotel Cecil with highlyluxurious-looking but empty baggage, and clad as it were off a stall atsome country rectory jumble sale! Blossoming forth the next day intoattire of the most chic and costly! One girl, with a voice and accent ofwhat Aunt Anastasia still calls "the governing class," acting as maid tothe other, whose accent is--well, different. I wonder what thechamber-maid thinks?

  She said: "Oh, if you please--"

  (No "madam" this time, though she was obviously on the verge of puttingit in!)

  "--if you please, Miss Million sent me to tell you that she wished hermaid to come to her at once."

  Good gracious! This was an unexpected move.

  An "S O S" signal, I supposed, from Million in distress! My employer,utterly unable to cope with the situation and the "strange younggentlemen alone," had ordered up reinforcements! An order! Yes, it wasan order from mistress to maid!

  My first impulse was frankly to refuse. I wonder how many maids havefelt it in their time over an unbargained-for order?

  "Tell her I'm not coming." This was what I nearly said to thechamber-maid.

  Then I remembered that one couldn't possibly say things like that.

  I sat for another second in disconcerted silence, my needle, threadedwith white silk, poised above the nightie.

  Then I said: "Tell Miss Million, please, that I will be with her in amoment."

  At the time I didn't mean to go. I meant to sit on, quietly sewing,where I was until the visitors had gone. Then I could "have it out" withMillion herself afterwards....

  But before I put in three more stitches my heart misgave me again.

  Poor little Million! In agonies of nervousness! What a shame to let herdown! And supposing that she, in her desperation, came out to fetch mein!

  I put aside my work and hastened across the corridor to my employer'ssitting-room. As I opened the door I heard an unexpected sound. Thatsound seemed to take me right back to our tiny kitchen in Putney, whenAunt Anastasia was out, and Million and I were gossiping together.

  Million's laugh!

  Surely she couldn't be laughing now, in the middle of her nervousness!


  I went in.

  A charming picture met me; a picture that might have hung at the Academyunder the title of "Two Strings to Her Bow" or "The Eternal Trio," orsomething else appropriate to the grouping of two young men and a prettygirl.

  The girl (Million), black-haired, white-frocked, and smiling, wassitting on a pink-covered couch, close to one of the young men--thebigger, more gorgeously dressed one. This was, of course, Mr. JamesBurke. He looked quite as effective as he had done in his coachingget-up. For now he wore a faultless morning-coat and the mostGeorge-Alexandrian of perfectly creased trousers. His head was assmoothily and glossily black as his own patent-leather boots. "Seenclose to," as Million puts it, he was showily good-looking, especiallyabout the eyes, with which he was gazing into the little heiress'sflushed face. They were of that death-dealing compound, deep blue, withthick, black lashes. What a pity that those eyes shouldn't have beenbestowed by Providence upon some deserving woman, like myself, insteadof being wasted upon a mere man. But possibly the Honourable Jamesdidn't consider them waste. He'd made good use of them and of hispersuasive voice, and of his time generally, with Miss Million, theSausage King's niece!

  They were sitting there, leaving the other poor young man looking quiteout of it, talking as if they were the greatest friends. As to Million'snervous terror, I can only say, in her own phrase, that "nervousness andshe were strangers!" That Irishman had worked a miracle; he'd putMillion at ease in his presence! I came right in and stood looking asindescribably meek as I knew how.

  My employer looked up at me with an odd expression on her small face.

  For the first time there was in it a dash of"I-don't-care-what-you-think-I-shall-do-what-I-like!" And for the firsttime she addressed me without any hesitation by the name that I,Beatrice Lovelace, have taken as my _nom de guerre_.

  "Oh, Smith," said Million--Miss Million, "I sent for you because I wantyou to pour out the tea for us. Pourin' out is a thing I always did'ate--hate."

  "Yes, Miss," I said.

  And I turned to obey orders at the tea-table.

  As meekly as if I'd been put into the world for that purpose alone, Ibegan to pour out tea for Miss Million and her guests.

  The tea-table was set in the alcove of the big window, so that I had toturn my back upon the trio. But I could feel eyes upon my back. Well! Ididn't mind. It was a gracefully fitted back at last, in that perfectlycut, thin black gown, with white muslin apron-strings tied in animpertinent little bow.

  There was a silence in the room where the hostess had been laughing andthe principal guest--I suppose she looked upon this Mr. Burke as theprincipal guest--had been purring away to her in that soft Irish voiceof his.

  I filled the cups and turned--to meet the honest sunburnt face of theother visitor, Mr. Reginald Brace. He'd got up and taken a quick steptowards me. I never saw anything quite so blankly bewildered as hisexpression as he tried hard not to stare at that little white muslinbutterfly cap in my hair.

  Of course! This was his first intimation that I, who had been Million'smistress, was now Miss Million's maid!

  In a dazed voice he spoke to me: "Can't I----Do let me help you----"

  "Oh, thank you," I said quietly and businesslikely. "Will you take thisto Miss Million, please?"

  He handed the cups to the others, and I followed and handed the cream,milk, and sugar. It felt like acting in a scene out of some musicalcomedy, at the Gaiety, say. And I daresay it looked like it, what withthe pretty, flower-filled sitting-room, and Million's French whitemuslin with the grey-blue sash, and my stage-soubrette livery, and theglossily groomed Mr. Burke as the young hero! I surprised a verysumming-up glance from those black-lashed blue eyes of his as I waitedon him. How is it that every syllable spoken in a certain kind of Irishvoice seems to mean a compliment, even if it's only "thank you" for thesugar? I went back and stood as silent and self-effacing as a statue, ora really well-trained servant, by the tea-things, while the HonourableJames Burke went on improving the shining hour with his millionairehostess.

  This was the sort of conversation that had been going on, evidently,from the start:

  "Isn't it an extraordinary thing, now, that I should be sitting here,cosily talking to you like this, when just at this same time last year,my dear Miss Million, I was sitting and talking to that dear old uncleof yours in Chicago?" he said. "Every afternoon I used to go and sit byhis bedside----"

  "A year ago, was it?" put in Million. "Why, Mr. Burke, I never knewuncle had been poorly so long as that; I thought he was taken ill quitesudden."

  "Oh, yes, of course. So he was," Mr. Burke put in quickly. "But you knowhe had an awful bad doing a good time before that. Sprained his ankle,poor old boy, and had to lie up for weeks. Awfully tedious for him; heused to get so ratty, if you don't mind my saying so, Miss Million. Heused to flare up in his tempers like a match, dear old fellow!"

  "Well, I never. I'm rather that way myself," from the delighted Million,who was obviously hanging on every word that fell from the youngfortune-hunter's improvising lips. "Must be in the family!"

  "Ah, yes; it always goes with that generous, frank, natural disposition.Always hasty as well! So much better than sulking, I always think," fromthe Irishman. "When it's over, it's over. Why, as your dear old uncleused to say to me, 'Jim,' he'd say--he always called me Jim----"

  "Did he really, now?" from Million. "Fancy!"

  Yes, it was all "fancy," I thought.

  As I stood there listening to that glib West of Ireland accent pilingdetail on detail to the account of the Honourable Jim's friendship withthe old Chicago millionaire a queer conviction strengthened in my mind.I didn't believe a word of it!

  "One of the best old chaps I ever knew. Hard and crusty on theoutside--a rough diamond, if you know what I mean--but one of Nature'sown gentlemen. I'm proud to think he had a good opinion of me----"

  All a make-up for the benefit of the ingenuous, ignorant little heiressto whom he was talking! He was brazenly "pulling" Miss Million'sunsophisticated leg! Honourable or not, he was an unscrupulousadventurer, this Jim Burke! And the other young man--the young bankmanager, who sat there balancing a cup of tea in one hand and one of thepale-green Gunter's cakes in the other? He hadn't a word to say. Therehe sat. I glanced at him. He looked wooden. But behind the woodennessthere was disapproval, I could see. Disapproval of the whole situation.Ah! I shouldn't have to ask him what he thought of the Honourable JimBurke. I could read Mr. Brace's opinion of him written in every line ofMr. Brace's clean-shaven, honest face that somehow didn't look sohandsome this afternoon. Showiness such as that of the big,black-haired, blue-eyed Irishman is enough to "put out" the light of anyone else! Why, why did I allow Million to meet him? He'd take care thatthis was not the only time! He was taking care of that.

  I heard him saying something about taking Miss Million on the coachsomewhere. I saw Miss Million clap her hands that are still rather redand rough from housework, manicure them as I will.

  "What, me! On a coach? What, with all them lovely white horses and thattrumpeter?" cried Million gleefully. "Would I like it? Oh, Mr. Burke!"

  Mr. Burke immediately began arranging dates and times for thisexpedition. He said, I think, "the day after to-morrow----"

  Oh, dear! What am I going to do about this? Forbid her to go? Up to noweverything that I have said has had such an immense influence uponlittle Million. But now? What about that quite new gleam of defiance inher grey eyes? Alas! the influence of one girl upon the actions ofanother girl may be as "immense" as you please, but wait until it iscountermined by some newly appeared, attractive young scoundrel of aman! (I am sure he is a scoundrel.)

  I foresee heated arguments between my young mistress and myself, withmany struggles ahead.

  Meanwhile, I feel that my only hope lies in Mr. Brace. Without a wordpassing between us, I felt that he understood something of my anxiety inthis situation. He might be able to help me, though I think I shouldhave thought more of him if he had tried to talk a little this afternoonin
stead of allowing the conversation to consist of a monologue by thatIrishman, punctuated by rapturous little Cockney comments from MissMillion.

  He, Mr. Brace, left first.

  I glided away from my station at the table to open the door for him.

  "Thank you," he said. "Good afternoon, Miss Lovelace." I must see himagain, or write to him, to ask for his help, I think!

  The Honourable Jim tore himself from Million's side about five minuteslater.

  "Good-bye, Miss Million. I wish I could tell you how much it's meant tome, meeting my old friend's niece in this way," purred the golden voice,while the Honourable Jim held Million's little hand in his and gazeddown upon the enraptured face of her. One sees faces like that sometimesoutlining the gallery railing at a theatre, while below the orchestradrawls out a phrase of some dreamy waltz and, on the stage, the matineehero turns his best profile to the audience and murmurs thrillingly:"Little girl! Do you dream how different my life could be--with you?"

  It wouldn't surprise me in the least if the Honourable Jim had made uphis mind to say something of the sort to Million, quite soon!

  Of course, his life would be "different" if he had heaps of money.Somehow I can't help feeling that, in spite of his clothes and the dashhe cuts, he hasn't a penny to his name.

  "Good-bye. _A bientot_," he said to Million.

  Oh, why did I ever bring her to the Cecil? As the door closed behind hervisitor Million breathed a heavy sigh and said, just as thosetheatre-going girls say at the drop of a curtain: "Wasn't he lovely?"

  Then she threw herself down on to the couch, which bounced. Somethingfell from it on to the floor.

  "There, if he hasn't left his walkin'-stick be'ind him!" exclaimedMillion, picking up a heavy ebony cane with a handsome gold top to it. Irealised that here was an excuse, hatched up by that consciencelessyoung Celt, to return shortly.

  Million didn't see that. She exclaimed: "Now I've got to run after himwith it, I s'pose----"

  "No, you haven't, Miss Million. I will take it. It's the maid's place,"I interposed. And quickly I took the cane and slipped out into thecorridor with it.

  I caught up with the tall visitor just as he reached the lift.

  "You left your cane in Miss Million's room, sir," I said to him in atone as stiff as that of a lady's-maid turned into a pillar of ice.

  The big Irishman turned. But he did not put out his hand for the cane atonce.

  He just said, "That's very kind of you," and smiled at me. Smiled withall those bold blue eyes of his. Then he said in a voice lower and moreflattering even than he had used to the heiress herself: "I wanted aword with you, Miss Lovelace, I think they call you. It's just this----"

  He paused, smiled more broadly all over his handsome face, and addedthese surprising words:

  "What's your game, you two?"

  "Game!--I beg your pardon!" I said haughtily. (I hope I didn't show howstartled and confused I was. What could he mean by "our game"?)

  I gazed up at him, and he gave a short laugh. Then he said: "Is itbecause nothing suits a pretty woman better than that kit? Is it justbecause you know the man's not born that can resist ye in a cap andapron?"

  I was too utterly taken aback to think of any answer. I thrust the caneinto his hands, and fled back, down the corridor, into my mistress'sroom. And, as I went in, I think I heard the Honourable Jim stilllaughing.