Miss Million's Maid Part 32

--"My cousin!"

I stared up at this big young stranger in the padded grey coat.

"Your cousin? But--I think you're making some mistake----"

"I guess not," said the young American. "You're my cousin's maid all right, aren't you? You're Miss Million's maid?"

"Yes. Yes, of course," I said, clinging on to that one straw of fact in an ocean of unexpectedness. "I'm her maid----"

"And I'm her cousin," said the young American simply. "Second cousin, or second, once removed--or something of that sort. You haven't heard of me?"

"No, I never have heard of any of Miss Million's cousins," I said, shaking my head with a gesture of firm disbelief. For I summed up his claim to relationship with my mistress as being about as authentic as the Honourable Jim's alleged friendship with her uncle.

Only the fibbing of this second young man seemed rather more shameless!

I said: "I didn't know that Miss Million had any cousins."

"And you don't believe it now you hear it? Is that so?" he said, still smiling cheerfully. "Why, it's quite right to be on the side of caution.

But you're overdoing it, Miss Smith. I'm related to old man Million right enough. Why, I'm at the boss-end of no end of his business. The Sausage King. Well, I've been the Sausage Prince. I see you looking at me as much as to say, 'You say so.' See here, d'you want some proofs?

I've a wad of letters from the old man in my pocket now."

He put his hand to the breast of the grey-tweed jacket.

"Maybe you think those aren't proofs, either? Write myself a few billets-doux signed, 'Yours cordially, Sam Million'--easy as falling off a horse, eh?"

(Of course, this was what I had thought.)

"I guess I shall have to take you and my cousin along with me to our lawyers the next time I'm calling, that's all," concluded the young American with his cheerfully philosophical air. "Chancery Lane, Messrs.

Chesterton, Brown, Jones, and Robinson. That's the firm."

"Oh! You know Mr. Chesterton!" I exclaimed in accents of relief. I'd quite forgotten Miss Million's dear old family lawyer. That nice old gentleman! If I wanted advice or help of course there was Mr. Chesterton to fall back on! I hadn't thought of him before.

"Know Mr. Chesterton? Sure thing," said the American. We had moved away from the churchyard railings and were strolling slowly towards the embankment now. "Why, Mr. Chesterton and I had a long, long heart-to-heart talk this afternoon, before I came on in the great trunk-searching act! I was just coming in to leave a card on my cousin, Miss Nellie Million, when I found myself one of the galaxy of beauty and talent that was going to make a thorough examination of you girls'

things."

"Oh, were you?" I said lamely. I couldn't think what else to say. Too many things had been happening all day long!

I said: "Miss Million didn't know you were coming?

"Why, no! I guess she didn't suspect my existence, any more than I suspected hers until a few weeks ago," said Miss Million's cousin. (At last I found myself believing that he really was her cousin after all.) "Horrible shock to me, I can tell you, that my Uncle Sam was cherishing the thought of this little English niece of his all this time! Making up his mind to leave his pile to this girl. Meantime Hiram P. Jessop," here he tapped the grey-tweed jacket again, "had been looking upon himself as the heir-apparent!"

"Oh! You thought all that money was coming to you?" I said, half-amused, half-pityingly, for this was certainly the frankest, most boyish sort of young man I'd ever come across. "And you've lost it all on account of my mistress?"

"Say, doesn't that sound the queerest ever? A daisy little girl like you talking about some other girl as her 'mistress'!" rejoined my companion in a wondering tone. "Why, d'you know? When I saw you standing there in the sitting-room, in your black dress and that cute little ap.r.o.n and cap, I said to myself: 'If this isn't the image of some Society girl of the English upper cla.s.s playing the Pretty Domestic part in some private theatricals where they rush you a quarter's salary, I guess, for half a look and a programme!' I said, if you'll pardon me: 'It's just the accent, just the look, just the manner.'"

"Oh!" I said, rather vexed.

I was annoyed that he should think there was any trace of "acting"

about my appearance. I thought I'd had the art that conceals Art. I thought I'd come to look such an irreproachable lady's-maid.

"Just typically the English Young Lady of the Upper Cla.s.ses," p.r.o.nounced this surprising young American, meditatively walking along by my side on the asphalt paths of the Embankment Gardens. "As typical as the Westminster Abbey, or those tea-shops.... Real sweet-looking, real refined-looking, if I may say so. But cold! Cold and stiff! 'Do not dare to approach me, for all my family were here dying of old age when William the Conqueror landed on these sh.o.r.es.' That's the way you'd impress one, Miss Smith. 'Look through my trunks?'" Here he adopted an extraordinary voice that I suppose was intended for an imitation of my own tones.

Then he pulled himself up and said gravely: "You'll pardon me if I'm too frank. But I'm always outspoken. It's my nature. I'm interested in types. I was interested in yours. Noo to me. Quite noo. The young lady that looks as if she ought to be standing to have her portrait painted on the grey-stone steps of some big English country house--the young lady that turns out to be paid maid to my own cousin! A noo thing."

"Really!" I said gravely. I couldn't help feeling amused at his puzzled face.

We turned again down the asphalt path between the flower-beds of those gardens that are overshadowed by the big hotel. On a bench I caught sight again of the quiet figure that I had noticed on the other side of the Strand. It was the Scotland Yard man. He seemed to be reading an evening paper. But I felt that he was watching, watching....

I didn't mind; even if he did think he was watching some one who knew what had become of the Rattheimer ruby! I felt something comforting and trustworthy in the presence of this other young man; this peculiar cousin of Million's, from whom one heard, quite unresentfully, remarks that one would not forgive in an Englishman, for instance Mr. Brace. Not that Mr. Brace would ever venture on such personalities ... the Honourable Jim now.... Yes, but he's a Celt. A Celt is a person who takes, but cannot give, offence. Most unfair, of course.

The American pursued: "And this cousin of mine? There's another type I shall be interested to see. Tell me about her, Miss Smith, will you?

Have you known her long?"

"Oh, yes," I said. "It's some years since I've known Miss Million."

"And well, considering the difference in your positions, that is?"

"Oh, yes, fairly well," I said, thinking of the many artless confidences I'd listened to from Miss Million--then "Million," of our disgracefully inconvenient little kitchen at Putney. Those far-away days seemed very pleasant and peaceful to me to-night! But they--those kitchen days--were no part of the business of the young man at my side.

"D'you get on with her?" he said.

"Oh, yes, thank you."

"You don't tell me much. It's this English reserve I'm always up against. It's a thing you'd need an ice-axe for, I guess, or a hundred years with your families living in the same village," complained the young American, laughing ruefully.

"Were you two girls raised together? School together?"

"Oh, no."

He sighed and went off on another tack.

"Can't you tell me the way she looks, so as to prepare me some for when I see her?" he suggested. "Does she resemble you, Miss Smith?"

"I don't think so," I said, suppressing a foolish giggle. It was the first time I'd wanted to laugh at anything for the last twenty-four hours. "No; Miss Million is--well, she's about my height. But she's dark."

"I've always admired the small brunette woman myself," admitted Mr.

Hiram P. Jessop, adding quickly and courteously: "Not that I don't think it's perfectly lovely to see a blonde with the bright chestnut hair and the brown eyes that you have."

"Thank you," I said.

"And how soon can I see this little dark-haired cousin of mine?" went on the American when we turned out of the Gardens. Un.o.btrusively the Scotland Yard man had risen also. "What time can I call around this evening?"

"I--I don't know when she'll be in," I hesitated.

"Where's she gone to?" persisted the cousin of this missing heiress.

"How long did she go for?"

I fenced with this question until we arrived at the very doors of the Cecil again.