The Independence of Claire Part 10

"Because I'm going to a solitary party? Only two minutes ago, my love, you were sympathising with my hard lot! I shall have Fridays. I'm tired on Fridays, and it's getting near the time for making up accounts.

I can be quite a creditable grumbler on Fridays."

"Well, just as you like! You _are_ going to the party, I suppose?

Haven't changed your mind by any chance, and determined to spend the evening hectoring me! If you are going, you'd better go. I'll sit up for you and keep some cocoa--"

Claire rose with a smile.

"I appreciate the inference! Starved and disillusioned, I am to creep home and weep on your bosom. Well, we'll see! Good-bye for the present. I'll tell you all about it when I get back..."

A minute's whistling at the front door produced a taxi, in which Claire seated herself and was whirled westward through brightly lighted streets. In the less fashionable neighbourhoods the usual Sat.u.r.day crowd thronged round the shops and booths, making their purchases at an hour when perishable goods could be obtained at bargain prices. Claire and Cecil had themselves made such expeditions before now, coming home triumphant with some savoury morsel for supper, and with quite a lavish supply of flowers to deck the little room. At the time the expeditions had been pleasant enough, and there had seemed nothing in the least _infra dig_ in taking advantage of the opportunity; but to-night the girl in the cloudy cloak looked through the windows of her chariot with an ineffable condescension, and found it difficult to believe that she herself had ever made one of so insignificant a throng!

"How I do love luxury! It's the breath of my nostrils," she said to herself with a little sigh of content, as she straightened herself in her seat, and smiled back at her own reflection in the strip of mirror opposite. Her hair had "gone" just right. What a comfort that was!

Sometimes it took a stupid turn and could not be induced to obey. She opened the cloak at the top and peeped at the dainty whiteness within, with the daring, thoroughly French touch of vivid emerald green which gave a _cachet_ to the whole. Yes, it was quite as pretty as she had believed. Every whit as becoming. "I don't look a bit like a school- mistress!" smiled Claire, and snoodled back again against the cushions with a deep breath of content.

She was not in the least shy. Many a girl about to make her _entree_ into a strange house would have been suffering qualms of misgiving by this time, but Claire had spent her life more or less in public, and was accustomed to meet strangers as a matter of course, so there was no dread to take the edge off her enjoyment.

Even when the taxi slowed down to take its place in the stream of vehicles which were drawn up before Mrs Willoughby's house, she knew only a heightened enjoyment in the realisation that it was not a party at all, but a real big fashionable At Home.

The usual crowd of onlookers stood on either side of the door, and as Claire descended from the taxi, the sight of her golden slippers and floating clouds of gauze evoked a gratifying murmur of admiration. She pa.s.sed on with her head in the air, looking neither to right nor left, but close against the rails stood a couple of working girls whose wistful eyes drew her own as with a magnet. In their expression was a whole world of awe, of admiration; they looked at her as at a denizen of another sphere, hardly presuming even to be envious, so infinitely was she removed from their grey-hued life. As Claire met their eyes, an impulse seized her to stop and tell them that she was just a working girl like themselves, but convention being too strong to allow of such familiarities, she smiled instead, with such a frank and friendly acknowledgment of their admiration as brought a flash of pleasure to their faces.

"She's a real laidy, she is!" said Gladys to Maud; and Maud sniffed in a.s.sent, and answered strongly, "You bet your life!"

The inside of the house seemed out of all proportion with the outside appearance. This is a special peculiarity of the West End, which has puzzled many a visitor besides Claire Gifford. What _is_ the magic which transforms narrow slips of buildings into s.p.a.cious halls and imposing flights of stairways? Viewed from the street, the town houses of well-known personages seem quite inadequate for their purpose; viewed from within, they are all that is stately and appropriate. Those of us who live in less favoured neighbourhoods would fain solve the riddle.

Mrs Willoughby stood at the top of her own staircase, shaking hands with the stream of ascending guests, and motioning them forward to the suite of entertaining rooms from which came a steady murmur of voices.

She was a stout woman, with a vast expanse of white shoulders which seemed to join right on to her head without any preliminary in the shape of a neck. Her hair was dark, and a plain face was lightened by a pair of exceedingly pleasant, exceedingly alert brown eyes. As soon as she met those eyes Claire felt a.s.sured that the kindness of which she had heard was a real thing, and that this woman could be counted upon as a friend. There was, it is true, a slight vagueness in the manner in which she made her greeting, but a murmur of "Mrs Fanshawe" instantly revived recollections.

"Of course--of course!" she cried heartily. "So glad you could come, my dear. I must see you later on. Reginald!"--she beckoned to a lad in an Eton suit--"I want you to take charge of Miss Gifford. Take her to have some coffee, and introduce her to some one nice."

A nod and a smile, and Mrs Willoughby had turned back to welcome the next guest in order, while the Eton boy offered his arm with the air of a prince of the blood, and led the way to a refreshment buffet around which the guests were swarming with an eagerness astonishing to behold when one realised how lately they must have risen from the dinner-table.

Claire found her young cavalier very efficient in his attentions. He settled her in a comfortable corner, brought her a cup of coffee heaped with foaming cream, and gave it as his opinion that it was going to be "a beastly crush." Claire wondered if it would be tactful to inquire how he happened to be at home in the middle of a term; but while she hesitated he supplied the information himself.

"I'm home on leave. Appendicitis. Left the nursing home three weeks ago. Been at the sea, and came back yesterday in time for this show.

Getting a bit tired of slacking!"

"You must be. Dear me! I _am_ sorry. Too bad to begin so soon,"

murmured Claire pitifully; but Master Reginald disdained sympathy.

"Oh, I dunno," he said calmly. "It's quite the correct thing, don't you know? Everybody's doing it. Just as well to get it through. It might"--he opened his pale eyes with a startled look--"it might have come on in the hols! Pretty fool I should have looked if I'd been done out of winter sports."

"There's that way of looking at it!" Claire said demurely. For a moment she debated whether she should break the fact that she herself was a school-mistress, but decided that it would be wiser to refrain since the boy would certainly feel more at ease with her in her private capacity. So for the next half-hour they sat happily together in their corner, while the boy discoursed on the subjects nearest his heart, and the girl deftly switched him back to the subjects more congenial.

"Yes, I love cricket. At least I'm sure I should do, if I understood it better... _Do_ tell me who is the big old lady with the eyegla.s.s and the diamond tiara?"

"Couldn't tell you to save my life. Rather an out-size, isn't she?

Towers over the men. I say! you ought to go to Lord's Will you turn up at Lord's next year to see our match? We might meet somewhere and I'd give you tea. Harrow won't have a chance. We've got a bowler who--"

"Can he really? How nice! Oh, that _is_ a curious-looking man with the long hair! I'm sure he is something, or does something different from other people. Is he a musician, do you think? Do you ever have music on these evenings?"

"Rather! Sometimes the mater hires a big swell, sometimes she lets loose the amateurs. She knows lots of amateurs, y'know. People who are trying to be big-wigs, and want the chance to show off. The mater encourages them. Great mistake if you ask me, but you needn't listen if you don't want. She has one of these crushes once a month. Beastly dull, I call them. Can't think why the people come. But she gives them a rattling good feed. Supper comes on at twelve, in the dining-room downstairs."

But Claire was not interested in supper. All her attention was taken up in watching the stream of people pa.s.sing by, and for a time the youth of her companion had seemed an advantage, since it made it easy to indulge her curiosity concerning her fellow-guests by a succession of questions which might have been boring to an adult. As time pa.s.sed on, however, and she became conscious that more than one pair of masculine eyes turned in her direction, she wished frankly Master Reginald would remember his mother's instructions and proceed without further delay to introduce her to "someone nice." To return home and confess to Cecil that she had spent the evening in company with a schoolboy would be almost as humiliating as sitting alone in a corner.

It was at this point that Claire became aware of the presence of a very small, very wizened old woman sitting alone at the opposite side of the room, her mittened hands clawing each other restlessly in her lap, her sunken eyes glancing to right and left with a glance distinctly hostile.

The pa.s.sing of guests frequently hid her from view, but when a gap came again, there she sat, still alone, still twisting her mittened hands, still coldly staring around. Claire thought she looked a very disagreeable old lady, but she was sorry for her all the same. Horrid to be old and cross, and to be alone in a crowd! She put yet another question to the boy by her side.

"That," said Master Willoughby seriously, "is Great-aunt Jane. Great- aunt Jane is the skeleton in our cupboard. The mater says so, and she ought to know. Every time the mater has a show, the moment the door is opened, in comes Great-aunt Jane, and sits it out until every one has gone. If any one dares speak to her she snaps his head off, and if they let her alone, she's furious, and gives it to the mater after they're gone. Most of the crowd know her by now, and pretend they don't see, ... and she gets waxier and waxier. Would you like to be introduced?"

"Yes, please!" said Claire unexpectedly. She was tired of sitting in one corner, and wanted to move her position, but she was also quite genuinely anxious to try her hand at cheering poor cross Great-aunt Jane. The old lady _pensionnaires_ in the "Villa Beau Sejour" had made a point of petting and flattering the pretty English girl, and Claire was complacently a.s.sured that this old lady would follow their example.

But she was mistaken.

"Aunt Jane, Miss Gifford asks to be introduced to you. Miss Gifford-- Lady Jane Willoughby."

Reginald beat a hurried retreat, and Claire seated herself at the end of the sofa and smilingly awaited her companion's lead. It did not come.

After one automatic nod of the head, Lady Jane resumed her former position, taking no more notice of the new-comer than if she had remained at the far end of the room. Claire felt her cheeks begin to burn. Her complacence had suffered a shock, but pride came to her rescue, and she made a determined effort at conversation.

"That nice boy has been telling me that he has had appendicitis."

Lady Jane favoured her with a frosty glance.

"Yes, he has. Perhaps you will excuse me from talking about it. I object to the discussion of diseases at social gatherings."

Claire's cheeks grew hotter still. A quick retort came to her lips.

"I wasn't going to discuss it! I only mentioned it for--for something to say. I couldn't think how else to begin!"

The droop of Lady Jane's eyelids inferred that it was really quite superfluous to begin at all. Claire waited a whole two minutes by the clock, and then made another effort.

"I hear we are to have some music later on."

"Sorry to hear it," said Great-aunt Jane.

"Really! I was so glad. Aren't you fond of music, then?"

"I am very fond of music," said Aunt Jane, and there was a world of insinuation in her voice. Without a definite word being spoken, the hearer was informed that good music, real music, music worthy the name, was a thing that no sane person would expect to hear at Mrs Willoughby's "At Homes." She was really the most terrifying and disconcerting of old ladies, and Claire heartily repented the impulse which had brought her to her side. A pretty thing it would be if she were left alone on this sofa for the rest of the evening!

But fortune was kind, and from across the room came a good angel who was so exactly a reproduction of Mrs Willoughby herself, minus half her age, that it must obviously be her daughter. Janet Willoughby was not a pretty girl, but she looked gay, and bright, and beaming with good humour, and at this moment with a spice of mischief into the bargain.

The manner in which she held out her hand to Claire was as friendly as though the two girls had been friends for years.

"Miss Gifford? I was sure it must be you. Mother told me to look for you. Aunt Jane, will you excuse my running away with Miss Gifford?

Several people are asking to be introduced. Will you come with me, Miss Gifford? I want to take you into the music room."

Claire rose with a very leap of eagerness, and as soon as they had gained a safe distance, Miss Willoughby turned to her with twinkling eyes.

"I am afraid you were having a bad time! I caught sight of you across the room and was so sorry. Who took you over there? Was it that naughty Reginald?"

"He did, but I asked him. I thought she looked lonely. I thought perhaps she would be pleased."