Anthony Lyveden Part 15

_I left the service of my previous employer because that gentleman was going abroad, and so had no further need of a footman. That was my first situation._

_I am accustomed to wait at table, answer the door, go out with the car, take care of silver, clean boots and knives, and carry coals: and I am ready to do anything that may be required of a man-servant. I have no objection to wearing powder._

_I have been receiving seventy-two pounds per annum, but since, if I come to you, I may bring my dog with me, I shall be content with a much lower wage._

_The dog in question--a Sealyham--is now recovering from distemper, and will not be fit to travel for another week, by which time I shall be ready to enter your service._

_Should you desire to see me, I will come for an interview at your convenience._

_I enclose a stamped addressed envelope, and shall be very grateful if you will inform me without delay if you are already suited._

_I am, Sir (or Madam), Yours obediently, A. LYVEDEN._

_Sunday, July 25th._

That he was an ex-officer, Lyveden deliberately omitted to mention; that he was a gentleman, he trusted that his style and handwriting would suggest. Had it been possible, he would have applied in person, not of self-confidence, but because he could have made plain one point, at any rate, upon which in a letter he feared to insist. This was that to have his dog with him he was willing to do his work for a shilling a day.

It was not until after his tea that Anthony fair-copied his letter.

When it was signed and sealed, he slid it into a pocket and, telling the mistress of the inn that he would like his supper at eight, took up his hat from the settle and strolled out into the sweet-scented lanes.

Half a mile distant a pillar of lichened bricks stood by itself at a corner where two ways met. Here was enshrined a miniature once-red door--a toy of a door, to gladden a child's heart and set his fancies whirling, and be remembered, with another half-dozen of trifles, so long as he lived. A slot in the door received His Majesty's mails.

Anthony, who had used the box before, strolled leisurely in its direction, and, as he went, contemplated, first, the sweetness of emanc.i.p.ation, and, secondly, the drawbacks of having but four pounds seven shillings and a penny between himself and thraldom.

A painstaking adder of figures, I have audited the gentleman's accounts and found them correct to the farthing. He must pay for his terrier's sickness and have four guineas in hand against the dog's board and lodging, in case, after all, he was to stay at the Dogs' Home. For a shilling he gave to a beggar, because he was poorer than himself, I can find no receipt, but hope it is filed in heaven. An eight-shilling meal stands out, among eightpenny teas, as a rare extravagance....

Lyveden was about to commit his dispatch to the posting-box--in fact, his hand was outstretched--when, to the amazement of a c.o.c.k-robin who frequented the pillar for company's sake, and had seen more letters posted than there were feathers upon his back, he hesitated, exclaimed, stared at the letter with knitted brow, and then thrust it back into his pocket.

The truth was that Lyveden had thought of the lady.

He strolled no farther, but walked--and that furiously. There were times when he strode. By the time he had covered eight miles and was on his way back, he was tramping wearily. He visited the Home and learned that his dog was mending. For fear of exciting the patient, he would not go in, but promised to come the next day. Then he pa.s.sed on, hardly noticing whither he went, but turning mechanically, when he had covered five miles, wrestling with arguments, grappling with circ.u.mstances, and finally setting himself by the ears for a lovesick fool and a varlet in coat-armour.

Her dog, housed at the Dogs' Home, had brought her to Hertfordshire.

Now that the poor little fellow was dead, Anthony flattered himself that he (Lyveden) might possibly bring her so far. And if he were to take this situation in the country--Heaven only knew where--she would come to seek him in vain, and would go empty away. That even if he stayed and she found him, and came to care for him, she would eventually go still more empty away, was a still uglier reflection....

Anthony was honourable, and there was the rub of rubs. That the shoe which Fate had tossed him was a misfit was nothing: that his sense of honour was chafed was intolerable.

"Now, Naaman ... was a great man with his master and honourable ... but he was a leper."

After some consideration, Anthony decided grudgingly that, on the whole, leprosy was worse than footmanhood, though less degrading.

After further consideration, he decided that, until he could be rid of his uncleanness, he was in honour bound to see my lady no more.

That it took him seven miles to work out this simple problem may seem ridiculous. Possibly it is. In any case it is highly illuminating, for it shows that the love which he bore Miss Valerie French was worth having.

When he posted his letter at a quarter to eight, the c.o.c.k-robin, who had been brooding over his late transilience, was greatly relieved.

Upon the second day of August the one-fifteen from Waterloo, or what was left of it, rumbled in the wake of three other coaches--country cousins, these, that had never seen London--up the long blue-brown valley at the end of which lay the station of Mockery Dale. It was tremendously hot, for the afternoon sun was raking the valley from stem to stern, and since what little breeze there was blew from the south-east, the fitful puffs pa.s.sed over the dip in the moorland and left it windless. This suited the b.u.t.terflies admirably. Indeed, from all the insects an unmistakable hum of approval of the atmosphere rose steadily. Anthony could not hear it, any more than he could hear the lark which was singing merrily at a vast height above the shining rails, for the rumble of the composite train, but he saw and marked the sleepy smile of the valley, noted with satisfaction its comfortable air of contentment to be no part or parcel of a frantic world, and held his terrier Patch to the dusty window, that he might witness the antics of a couple of forest ponies, which were galloping away from the train and kicking up contemptuous heels at the interloper in an ecstasy of idle menaces, clown-like in their absurdity.

Patch saw the impudent frolic and, panting with excitement, evinced an immediate desire to leave the carriage and deal summarily with the irreverence, but a second later the sudden demands of a French bull-dog, sitting pert in a dog-cart which at a level-crossing was awaiting the pa.s.sage of the train, superseded the ponies' claim upon his displeasure. The alien was scolded explosively.

A moment later the train had pulled into the station, and Lyveden and Patch got out. They were, it appeared, the only pa.s.sengers to descend.

The only vehicle outside the station was a Ford car, rather the worse for wear. Sitting as drowsily at the wheel as the exigencies of the driver's seat would permit was a man of some thirty summers. From his appearance he might have been a member of the club to which, till recently, Anthony had belonged. His soft felt hat was c.o.c.ked extravagantly over one eye to keep the sun at bay, and his country suit was, fortunately, of a cloth which age cannot wither nor custom stale, but whose like has not been woven since the ill-favoured and lean-fleshed kine came up out of the river of War.

As Lyveden appeared, carrying his luggage and preceded by Patch--

"No need to ask if you're for The Shrubbery," said the driver of the Ford lazily. "Shove your things in the back, will you?"

Anthony set down his suit-case and touched his hat. "Very good, sir,"

he said.

"Here," came the airy reply, "you mustn't 'sir' me. I'm the comic chauffeur--your fellow-bondsman, to wit. Name of Alison." He extended a firm brown hand. "Not to put too fine a point upon it, I'm overwhelmed to meet you. With the slightest encouragement, I shall fall upon your neck. The last footman was poor company, and took two baths in three months. My wife didn't try to like him. She's the parlour-maid."

Anthony took the other's hand like a man in a dream.

"I can't believe it," he said simply. "Is this a leg-pull?"

"No blinkin' fear," said Alison. "We're all in the same boat. What a topping dog!"

Anthony felt inclined to fling his hat upon the ground and yell with delight. Instead, he thrust his baggage into the car and, stepping in front of the bonnet, took hold of the starting-handle.

"Is it safe?" he said, straddling. "Or will she go round with my hand?"

"Well, we do usually get some one to stand on the step," said Alison, "but, if you like to risk it ..."

A moment later they were hurtling along a white-brown ribbon of road that sloped sideways out of the valley and on to the top of the moor.

Alison chattered away light-heartedly.

"You see in me," he said, "the complete chauffeur. With my livery on and two thousand five hundred pounds' worth of Rolls-Royce all round me, I'm simply it. My only fear is that, when you turn out beside me, the whole perishin' concern will be caught up to heaven. However, I really think you'll be happy."

"I believe you," said Lyveden.

"Of course, I don't do much indoors, but Betty says the housework's nothing. Anne agrees. She combines the duties of housemaid and my sister. Oh, we're all in it, I warn you. Of course, we do old b.u.mble and Mrs. b.u.mble proud. They deserve it. They're very kindly and easy-going, and we always try and give them just a shade more than they have a right to expect. He's a retired grocer and proud of it. Plenty of money, no children. Very little entertaining. We have more visitors in the servants' hall than they do in the drawing-room...."

The lazy voice purled on contentedly till the car leapt into a village gathered about the road.

"Hawthorne, I take it," said Lyveden.

"Brother," said Alison, "I will not deceive you. This is indeed that bourn from which no commercial traveller returns, for the most potent reason that none ever comes here. Thank Heaven, it's off their beat.

The Shrubbery's half a mile on."

Two minutes later they swept up a shady drive, past the creepered front of a well-built house, and into a small courtyard.

As the emotions of the car subsided, a c.o.c.ker spaniel made her appearance, squirming with affection and good-will, and offering up short barks of thanksgiving by way of welcome.

"Hush, Jose, hush!" cried a pleasant voice, and the next moment Mrs.