Lady Cassandra Part 3

"It seems unsuitable, I grant. But they do. I've seen them when I've been locking up. On the floor. In a wooden box. Carrots and turnips, and potatoes in their skins."

Grizel straightened herself determinedly, and attacked her breakfast.

"I shall _never_ visit the scullery!" she said firmly. "It would spoil my appet.i.te. Thank you so much for warning me, ducky doo!"

"Not at all. It was an exhortation. The cook will expect it of you.

So shall I. You must kindly remember the sink."

"I take your word for it. Suppose there is? What in the name of fortune has it to do with me?"

"It's your sink, Madam. Part of your new-found responsibilities. I don't wish to harrow your susceptibilities, but it might not be kept clean. It is for you to see that it is."

"You should have told me that afore, Laddie!" warbled Grizel reproachfully. "n.o.body never warned me I should have to poke about sinks! And I won't neither. It's a waste of skilled labour. Aren't there lots of sanitary kind of people who make their living by that sort of work? Let's have one to look after ours!"

"Every morning?"

"Why not? Every evening too, if you like."

Martin burst into a roar of laughter, and stretched a hand across the table.

"You're a goose, Grizel; an impracticable little goose. I'm afraid we shall never make a Martha of you." Then suddenly his face fell, and the caressing touch strengthened into a grasp. "You shouldn't have to do it," he cried sharply. "It isn't fair. You've been a miracle of generosity to me, darling, but when it comes to facing the stern realities of life, I wonder if I ought to have let you do it."

"You couldn't help yourself," Grizel said calmly. "I asked you, and you couldn't for shame say no. Give me back my hand, dear. I want it, to go on eating. I do love having breakfast with you in our very own house, and I must make it last as long as possible, as I shan't see you again for four whole hours. ... What shall we do after lunch?"

"Er--generally--if I'm in the mood--I go on writing till five o'clock."

Martin spoke with hesitation, as though fearing a reproach, and Grizel narrowed her eyes, and smiled; a slow, enigmatical smile, but spoke not one rude word. She had quite decided that Martin should not be in the mood!

"On Wednesday and Thursday I'm to be At Home!" was her next irrelevant remark. "We put fifteenth and sixteenth on our cards, and now that we've stayed away a week longer than we intended, the fell date is upon us before we can breathe. Do you suppose many people will come?"

Martin's shrug was eloquent.

"Every adult feminine creature who can crawl on two legs from a radius of five miles around, will crawl to the door. Hundreds of 'em! And with luck three or four males."

"I could find it in my heart to wish it were t'other way round!

However! never say die... There'll be no time to finish the drawing-room! I'll have to receive the surging mobs in the sitting-room upstairs. Let's pray the chairs will go round!"

"Couldn't the drawing-room be got ready with a rush?"

"Why in the world should we bother to rush?"

"They'll be disappointed if you don't. The drawing-room is part of the show. The whole neighbourhood is speculating about it now, and wondering if it's blue or pink. A house with a closed drawing-room is like a play without the star. Do you realise, darling, that they'll expect to be shown all over the house?"

"Let them expect, if it pleases them to do it, but they _won't_! Let me catch anyone trying it on!" cried Grizel sharply, and the gay eyes sent out a flash of fire. "My own little home!--it shall _not_ be turned into a peep-show for a flock of curious women to criticise and quiz.

I'll give them tea, and I'll give them cake, I'll talk pretty, and put on a tea-gown which will scare 'em into fits, but show them over the house--_I will not_! Let's pretend the sitting-room _is_ the drawing-room, and all will be peace and joy."

"It would leak out afterwards, and they'd feel defrauded. Half of them will never enter the house again, darling; you won't care to pursue the acquaintance, and it will end with an exchange of calls; but you're rather an exceptional kind of bride, remember, and these good ladies don't get too much amus.e.m.e.nt out of life. It would be kind of you to give them an afternoon out! Not, of course, if it bothers _you_, but surely the maids--"

Grizel crossed the room to the fire, and stretched a small pink, silk-quilted shoe towards the blaze.

"If you're going to be moral, and appeal to my better feelings, you'd better be off to your work! I detest people who air their principles at breakfast... For two straws I'll stay in bed, and say I'm over-tired with my journey, and can't see anyone at all. I will, too, if you hector me any more, or I'll show 'em into the dining-room, and have a sit-down tea, round the big table, with shrimps, and cold ham, and potted beef..."

"They'd put it down as the latest society craze, and adopt it when they wished to be smart... You will be one of the fashion leaders of the neighbourhood, whether you like it or not, so you'd better take heed to your ways. You and Lady Ca.s.sandra."

"Humph!" Grizel's eyes showed their most impish gleam. "Yes! I'm building great hopes on Ca.s.sandra. It's dull keeping all the fun to oneself. With her help, if she's the right sort, I'll make things hum!"

Martin told himself that it was waste of time to say any more for the moment. Whatever he said, Grizel would contradict; whatever he proposed, she would reject; and as what she said would have no bearing whatever on her future conduct, the wisest plan seemed to be to kiss her several times over, talk delicious nonsense for a couple of minutes, and then to retire precipitately to his study. The which he proceeded to do.

Left to herself, Grizel strolled into the half-furnished drawing-room and seated herself on a packing box to survey the scene. Two rooms had been thrown into one, and the windows lowered, to allow a wide view of the garden, and so increase the feeling of s.p.a.ce. The furniture was a selection from the collection of antiques which she had inherited from her aunt. Several old cabinets stood ranged along the wall ready to be put into position, and filled with treasures still unpacked. In a corner were rolled the old Persian rugs which would be spread over the parquet floor. At the end of five minutes' scrutiny Grizel's quick brain had put every article into its place, and her quick eye had seen the completed whole, and found it good. She decided to get it finished before lunch, and give Martin a surprise, and rang the bell to summon the staff to her aid.

The parlourmaid appeared with alacrity. It was like living in a novelette, to attend a bride who wore pink and white fineries in the morning, and looked as if she had never done a hand's turn in her life.

She entered on the day's duties with a refreshing feeling of excitement.

"Please 'Um, the fish-man's called."

"Oh! has he? I can't attend to him now. Parsons!--your name is Parsons, isn't it?--would you kindly remember that my name is not ''Um.'

It is just as easy to say Madam, and sounds far better. I want you and Marie, and cook, to come here at once, and I'll tell you what I want done to this room."

"At--at once, Madam?"

"Certainly, at once."

"Before I clear away?"

"What do you want to clear away?"

"The breakfast things, Madam. And,--and the fish-man can't wait."

"Tell him to call again then, later on."

"He's on his rounds, Madam. He only calls the once."

"The fishmonger be--" Grizel coughed audibly, remindful of responsibilities towards the young. It was borne in upon her that the moment which she had dreaded was upon her, and could no longer be escaped. The fish-man was waiting, could not wait, could not return; it therefore behoved the mistress of the household to repair to the kitchen and interview the cook. She rose from the packing case, gathered her skirts around her, and turned to the door.

"Kindly go and tell Mrs Mason that I am coming!"

Mrs Mason was on duty beside the kitchen table. Having heard from Parsons' lips a bated account of her lady's splendour, she also was setting forth on the day's duties with a flavour of excitement. Spread out neatly in rows were the remains of last evening's repast. Cold fish, cold cutlets, dishevelled chicken, half-eaten sweets. Grizel, who had never before been called upon to interview food in _deshabille_, turned from the sight with a shudder.

"You can use those up in the kitchen." The cook acquiesced, and concealed her complaisance.

"And what would you like for the room?"

"In future," said Grizel firmly, "I should like the menu for the day drawn out, ready to be submitted to me every morning."

"I have never been uzed--" began the cook, then her eyes met those of her mistress, and to her own amazement she found herself concluding lamely, "Of course if you wish it, 'Um, I must try! ... The fish-man is waiting for horders."

"_Au diable avec le poissonnier_!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Grizel _sotto voce_. She leant back against the corner of the dresser, the tail of her white robe folded round in front, displaying the small pink shoes to cook's appraising eyes. Her eyes roamed here and there over the kitchen, but studiously avoided the provisions on the table. From the region of the back door sounded a whistle, impatient and peremptory. The cook glanced around, glanced back at the pink and white figure standing with head on one side, leisurely regarding the arrangement of bra.s.s on the mantelpiece, and was goaded into the extreme course of making a suggestion.