The Motor Maid Part 15

I had nothing better to do than to watch for new arrivals. My eyes were lazily fixed on the door, and presently it opened. A figure, all fur and a yard wide, came in.

It was the figure of Monsieur Charretier.

CHAPTER X

For a minute everything swam before me, as it used to at the Convent after some older girl had twisted up the ropes of the big swing, with me in it, and let me spin round. Also, I felt as if a jugful of hot water had been dashed over my head. I seemed to feel it trickling through my hair and into my ears.

If I could have moved, I believe I should have bolted like a frightened rabbit, perfectly regardless of what Lady Turnour might think, caring only to dart away without being caught by the man I'd done such wild deeds to escape. But I was as helpless as a person in a nightmare; and, indeed, it was as unreal and dreadful to me as a nightmare to see that fat, fur-coated figure walking toward me, with the bearded face of Monsieur Charretier showing between turned-up collar and motor-cap surmounted by lifted goggles.

They say you have time to think of everything while you are drowning. I believe that, now, because I had time to think of everything while that furry gentleman took a dozen steps. I thought of all the things he and my cousins had ever done to disgust me with him during his "courtship."

I asked myself whether his arrival here was a coincidence, or whether he'd been tracking me all along, step by step, while I'd been chuckling to myself over my lucky escape. I thought of what he would do when he recognized me, and what Lady Turnour would say, and Sir Samuel. And although I couldn't see exactly what good he could do in such a situation, I wished vaguely that my brother the chauffeur were on the spot. Then suddenly, with a wild rush of joy, I remembered that I was facing the danger through my little talc window.

Any properly trained heroine of melodrama would have e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed "Saved!"

but I haven't a tragedy nose, and I gave only a stifled squeak, more like the swan-song of a dying frog than anything more romantic.

n.o.body heard it, luckily; and Monsieur Charretier, who had just come into the twilight of the hall from the brighter light out of doors, bustled past the retiring figure of the lady's-maid without a glance. I had even to take a step out of his way, not to be brushed by his fur shoulder, so wide he was in his expensive motoring coat; and trembling from the shock, I awkwardly collided with Lady Turnour. She, in her turn, avoiding my onslaught as if I'd been a beggar in rags, stepped on Monsieur Charretier's toe.

He exclaimed in French, she apologized in English.

He bowed a great deal, a.s.suring madame that she had not inconvenienced him. She accused her maid, whose stupidity was in fault; and because each one looked to the other rich and prosperous they were extremely polite to one another. Even then, though her ladyship snapped at me, "What _has_ come over you, Elise? You're as clumsy as a cow!" he had no notice to waste upon the _femme de chambre_. Yet I dared not so much as murmur, "Pardon!" lest he should recognize my voice.

Fortunately my mistress and her husband were now ready to go up to their rooms, and we left Monsieur Charretier engaging quarters for himself and his chauffeur. Evidently he was going to stop all night; but from his indifference to me I judged joyfully that he had not come to the hotel armed with information concerning my movements. He might be searching for his lost love, but he didn't know that she was at hand.

All my pleasure in the thought of sightseeing at Avignon was gone, like a broken bubble. I shouldn't dare to see any sights, lest I should be seen. But stopping indoors wouldn't mean safety. Lady's-maids can't keep their rooms without questions being asked; and if I pretended to be ill, very likely Lady Turnour would discharge me on the spot, and leave me behind as if I were a cast-off glove. Yet if I flitted about the corridors between my mistress's room and mine, I might run up against the enemy at any minute.

I tried to mend the ravelled edges of my courage by reminding myself that Monsieur Charretier couldn't pick me up in his motor-car, and run off with me against my will; but the argument wasn't much of a stimulant. To be sure, he couldn't use violence, nor would he try; but if he found me here he would "have it out" with me, and he would tell things to Lady Turnour which would induce her to send me about my business with short shrift.

He could say that I'd run away from my relatives, who were also my guardians, and altogether he could make out a case against me which would look a dark brown, if not black. Then, when Lady Turnour and Sir Samuel had washed their hands of me, and I was left in a strange hotel, practically without a sou--unless the Turnours chose to be inconveniently generous, and packed me off with a ticket to Paris--I should find it very difficult to escape from my Corn Plaster admirer.

This time there would be no kind Lady Kilmarny to whom I could appeal.

Between two evils, one chooses that which makes less fuss. It wasn't as intricate to risk facing Monsieur Charretier as it was to eat soap and be seized with convulsions; so I went about my business, waiting upon her ladyship as if I had not been in the throes of a mental earthquake.

She was not particularly cross, because the gentleman whose acquaintance I had thrust upon her might turn out to be Somebody, in which case my clumsiness would be a blessing in disguise; but if she had boxed my ears I should hardly have felt it.

Bent upon dazzling the eyes of potentates in the dining-room, and outshining possible princesses, the lady was very particular about her dress. Although the big luggage had gone on by train to some town of more importance (in her eyes) than Avignon, she had made me keep out a couple of gowns rather better suited for a first night of opera in Paris than for dinner at the best of provincial hotels. She chose the smarter of these toilettes, a black _chiffon_ velvet embroidered with golden tiger-lilies, and filled in with black net from shoulder to throat. Then the blue jewel-bag was opened, and a nodding diamond tiger-lily to match the golden ones was carefully selected from a blinding array of brilliants, to glitter in her ma.s.ses of copper hair. Round her neck went a rope of pearls that fell to the waist whose slenderness I had just, with a mighty muscular effort, secured; but not until she had dotted a few b.u.t.terflies, bats, beetles and other scintillating insects about her person was she satisfied with the effect. At least, she was certain to create a sensation, as Sir Samuel proudly remarked when he walked in to get his necktie tied by me--a habit he has adopted.

"I wonder if I ought to trust Elise with my bag?" Lady Turnour asked him, anxiously, at last. "So far, since we've been on tour, I've carried it over my arm everywhere, but it doesn't go very well with a costume like this. What do you think?"

"Why, I think that Elise is a very good girl, and that your jewels will be perfectly safe with her if you tell her to take care of the bag, and not let it out of her sight," replied Sir Samuel, evidently embarra.s.sed by such a question within earshot of the said Elise.

"Perhaps I'd better have dinner in my own room, so as to guard it more carefully?" I suggested, brightening with the inspiration.

"That's not necessary," answered her ladyship. "You can perfectly well eat downstairs, with the bag over your arm, as I have done for the last two days. I don't intend to pay extra for you to have your meals served in your room on any excuse whatever."

I couldn't very well offer to pay for myself. That would have raised the suspicion that I had hidden reasons of my own for dining in private, and I regretted that I hadn't held my tongue. Lady Turnour ostentatiously locked the receptacle of her jewels with its little gilded key, which she placed in a gold chain-bag studded with rubies as large as currants; and then, reminding me that I was responsible for valuables worth she didn't know how many thousands, she swept away, leaving a trail of white heliotrope behind.

In any case I would wait, I thought, until I could be tolerably certain that all the guests of the hotel had gone down to dinner. If I knew Monsieur Charretier, he would be among the first to feed, but I couldn't afford to run needless risks. I lingered over the task of putting my mistress's belongings in order, almost with pleasure, and then, once in my own room, I took as long as I could with my own toilet. I was ready at last, and could think of no further excuse for pottering, when suddenly it occurred to me that I might do my hair in a demurer, less becoming way, so that, if I should have the ill luck to encounter a sortie of the enemy, I might still contrive to pa.s.s without being recognized.

I pinned a clean towel round my neck, barber fashion, and pulling the pins out of my hair, shook it down over my shoulders. But before I could twist it up again, there came a light tap, tap, at the door.

"There!" I thought. "Some one has been sent to tell me the servants'

dinner will be over if I don't hurry. Perhaps it's too late already, and I'm _so_ hungry!"

I bounced to the door, and threw it wide open, to find Mr. John Dane standing in the pa.s.sage, holding a small tray crowded with dishes.

"Here you are," he said, in the most matter-of-fact way, as if bringing meals to my door had been a fixed habit with him, man and boy, for years. "Hope I haven't spilt anything! There's such a crush in our feeding place that I thought you'd be safer up here. So I made friends with a dear old waiter chap, and said I wanted something nice for my sister."

"You didn't!" I exclaimed.

"I did. Do you mind much? I understood it was agreed that was our relationship."

"No, I don't mind much," I returned. "Thank you for everything." I shook back a cloud of hair, and glanced up at the chauffeur. Our eyes met, and as I took the tray my fingers touched his. His dark face grew faintly red, and then a slight frown drew his eyebrows together.

"Why do you suddenly look like that?" I asked. "Have I done anything to make you cross?"

"Only with myself," he said.

"But why? Are you sorry you've been kind to me? Oh, if you only knew, I need it to-night. Go on being kind."

"You're not the sort of girl a man can be kind to," he said, almost gruffly, it seemed to me.

"Am I ungrateful, then?"

"I don't know what you are," he answered. "I only know that if I looked at you long as you are now I should make an a.s.s of myself--and make you detest or despise me. So good night--and good appet.i.te."

He turned to go, but I called him back. "Please!" I begged. "I'll only keep you one minute. I'm sure you're joking, big brother, about being an a.s.s, or poking fun at me. But I don't care. I need some advice so badly!

I've no one but you to give it to me. I know you won't desert me, because if you were like that you wouldn't have come to stop at this hotel to watch over your new sister--which I'm sure you did, though that may sound ever so conceited."

"Of course I won't desert you," he said. "I couldn't--now, even if I would. But I'll go away till you've had your dinner, and--and made yourself look less like a siren and more like an ordinary human being--if possible. Then I'll run up and knock, and you can come out in the pa.s.sage to be advised."

"A siren--with a towel round her neck!" I laughed. "If I should sing to you, perhaps you might say--"

"Don't, for heaven's sake, or there would be an end of--your brother,"

he broke in, laughing a little. "It wouldn't need much more." And with that he was off.

He is very abrupt in his manner at times, certainly, this strange chauffeur, and yet one's feelings aren't exactly hurt. And one feels, somehow, as I think the motor seems to feel, as if one could trust to his guidance in the most dangerous places. I'm sure he would give his life to save the car, and I believe he would take a good deal of trouble to save me; indeed, he has already taken a good deal of trouble, in several ways.

When he had gone I set down the tray, shut the door, and went to see how I really did look with my hair hanging round my shoulders. My ideas on the subject of sirenhood are vague; but I must confess, if the creatures are like me with my hair down, they must be quite nice, harmless little persons. I admire my hair, there's so much of it; and at the ends, a good long way below my waist, there's such a thoroughly agreeable curl, like a yellow sea-wave just about to break. Of course, that sounds very vain; but why shouldn't one admire one's own things, if one has things worth admiring? It seems rather ungrateful to Providence to cry them down; and ingrat.i.tude was never a favourite vice with me.

One would have said that the chauffeur knew by instinct what I liked best to eat, and he must have had a very persuasive way with the waiter.

There was creme d'orge, in a big cup; there were sweetbreads, and there was lemon meringue. Nothing ever tasted better since my "birthday feasts" as a child, when I was allowed to order my own dinner.

My room being on the first floor, though separated by a labyrinth of quaint pa.s.sages from Lady Turnour's, there was danger in a corridor conversation with Mr. Dane at an hour when people might be coming upstairs after dinner; but he was in such a hurry to escape from me that I had no time to explain; and I really had not the heart to make myself hideous, by way of disguise, as I'd planned before his knock at the door. As an alternative I put on a hat, pinning quite a thick veil over my face, and when the expected tap came again, I was prepared for it.

"Are you going out?" my brother asked, looking surprised, when I flitted into the dim corridor, with Lady Turnour's blue bag dutifully slipped on my arm.