The Oyster Part 8

CHAPTER IV

Once a mere cottage, now a long ornate bungalow jutting into angles, full of unexpected rooms, the Bellews' river-side house is more luxurious than many big structures of brick and mortar.

"We run down to picnic here," but Belle Bellew knew that picnicking without everything out of season, and a _chef_ of quality, could not appeal to the people she gathered about her. The picnic element was kept up by breakfast-tables laid under trees, things deserted and unused--man likes his breakfast free from fly and midge. The ideal, talked of in the gleam of electric light, is fresh air, the plash of old Father Thames, morning sunshine; the real is that we prefer tempered light, copper heaters, and a roof.

The long low house jutted out in two wings, all the windows opening onto a covered veranda.

Dull people turned their heads aside when they rowed past on Sunday evenings, for the flash of lights, the sound of raised voices, could be seen and heard from the river.

The chairs were wicker, but the rugs on the stained floors Persian. It was wealth, less ostentatious than the Holbrooks'; light, frothy, merry, careless wealth, with pleasure for its high priest.

Jimmie Gore Helmsley motored Denise and Sybil down; the place seemed empty when they came, but looking closer one could see groups here and there, see flutter of light dresses; hear tinkle of light laughter, ba.s.s of man's deeper note.

A thin, svelte woman, green-eyed, ferret-faced, came out of the open door. Mousie Cavendish said she found her ugliness more powerful than other women's beauty. A bitter-tongued little creature, stirring every surface maliciously to point out something foul below it. But clever, moderately rich, perfectly gowned; gaining what income she lacked through her too keen power of observation.

You sat with her, sweetly pulling some reputation to pieces; you left full-fed with evil spice; and then you shivered. Were not the same thin fingers pulling out your secrets now, those secrets you foolishly hinted at?

"Ah! pretty Esme!" Mousie blew a kiss from her reddened lips. "You here! Where's Mrs Bellew, Miss Chauntsey? We may see her at dinner-time; we may not, if she has taken a tea-basket to the backwater close by." Mousie laughed at Sybil. "Does your young mind run upon hostesses who wait to receive their guests? You will not find them here, my child. Tell the men to get tea, Jimmie; we'll have it here."

The veranda was a series of outdoor rooms, wooden part.i.tions, rose-grown, dividing it.

Sybil's grey eyes were sparkling; this was so different from tea in decorous drawing-rooms, from a stately week-end spent at Ascot with her mother.

"Tea?" Mousie turned to the footman. "Cream sandwiches and fruit. This riverside hotel," said Mrs Cavendish, "is an excellent one. Why, fair Esme, you look pallid. And what pretty emeralds, cherie. Oh! the rewards of beauty!"

The keen little eyes were frankly malicious, frankly open as to what they meant.

Esme flushed a little; she saw the green eyes flash on at Gore Helmsley. Esme was almost crudely virtuous; the hint offended.

Servants were preparing the lawn for the night's revel. Temporary lights were being hung on strings, the turf swept and rolled; a great mirror was set up.

"For the cotillon?" Esme asked.

"For the cotillon. We begin at nine. So that at twelve the c.o.c.k shall crow and we shall all--not go to bed."

"More people coming. Mrs Bellew," said Sybil, "was not out; she is coming into the garden now."

"Ah! tiens, my child! it was my kindness to say that she was out, knowing it was the hour of electricity. Once the knell of forty sounds we must have our faces recharged daily. The Prince is coming--look ye!"

Prince Fritz--young, fat, extremely volatile, a thorn in the side of his august mother and his wife--came tripping across the gra.s.s. He talked English with a strong accent, and he bemoaned the future when he must go home.

Yet, though Belle Bellew might box his ears later in a romp, she must bob to him now discreetly as she greeted him.

Prince Fritz boomed out content and delight. "There is no place such as this river house," he said, "none, fair lady." Then he looked round for the dancer, who was his special attraction.

"Don't be alarmed, sir--she arrives," mocked Mousie from her balcony, "she arrives. The revenues can continue to be squandered, and a nice little woman's heart torn by the snapshots she sees of you in the picture papers."

Prince Fritz grinned equably; he was not dignified.

"Like to see the river?" Gore Helmsley asked Sybil.

The girl was charming in her simple dress. Fresh and sweet and unspoiled, eagerly delighted with everything.

But down by gliding, stately Thames, Jimmie was fatherly. She must be careful here, keep quiet; a good deal of romping went on--and girls could not behave as married women could.

"I'm your G.o.dfather here, you see." His dark face came close to hers, showing the crinkles round his eyes, the hard lines near his mouth; but he was at the age girls delight to worship. Someone who knows the mysteries they only dream of; someone so different to honest, pleasant boys, who thought more of sport than their companions.

Friendship! It was Jimmie Gore Helmsley's deadly weapon; there was nothing to frighten the maid--he was only a pal--a pal to win her confidences, to tell her how sweet she looked, to point out the perfect smoothness of her fresh young skin, to find beauty in the lights in her hair, the curves of her dimpled neck; to take her about discreetly in town, to walk and talk with her at country houses; to listen, with a face set a little wistfully, about some boy who adored her. Frank or Tom was a good sort, a brick; youth went to youth; heaven send she would be happy, and--appreciated--that the blind boy would see plainly the perfection of the treasure he was winning. Ah! if someone who could see could win it!

After this, next day, meeting her young lover, mademoiselle the debutante would fret and sulk because Frank or Tom talked of his last score at cricket, or his great day with the Team, instead of worshipping her beauty.

And, later, the confidences would grow fewer; would come a day when the boy's image faded; when a fool's heart beat for the world-worn man who set her up as G.o.ddess, and then.... There were broken hearts and lives in high society which could tell the rest. There were women, married now, who shivered angrily at one hidden corner in their lives.

This nut-brown maid, with her grey eyes and cloud of dusky hair, appealed to Jimmie. He came with a careless zest to each new conquest.

But first there was bright, flashing Esme, paid court to now for half a year. The girl attracted vaguely as yet. Esme's careless coldness had made him the more determined, but to-day he felt more confident.

Dinner was in two rooms, divided by an arch; the clatter of voices, the flash of lights at the little tables, made it like a restaurant.

Belle Bellew, slim and tall, perfectly preserved, sorted her more important guests, took scant trouble with the others.

The drawing-room almost dazzled Sybil. Lights glowed through rose petals; jewels flashed on women's dresses and necks and arms; silks shimmered; chiffons floated round cleverly-outlined forms.

The finger-bowls at dinner all held stephanotis flowers; the cloying, heavy scent floated through the hot air.

Navotsky, the dancer, was in black, dead and unrelieved, clinging to her sensuous limbs, outlining her white skin, and when she moved the sombre draperies parted, with flash of orange and silver underneath, sheath fitting, brilliantly gorgeous. A great band of diamonds outlined her small, sleek head.

"More taxes on Grosse Holbein," murmured Mousie Cavendish. "Oh, what a joy to dine where there is a cook and not a preparer of defunct meats."

There was no ostentation here, but a cunning which reached perfection.

"Laying up for ourselves water-drinking in Homburg," remarked Jimmie, as he finished fish smothered in a sauce compound of many things, and went on with a soufflet of asparagus. "Well, it's worth it. Look at our Fritz, he's longing for stewed pork and plums; the butler tells me he has cold galantine and bread and pickles left in his room at night to a.s.suage his hunger."

As the blue smoke haze drifted, and black coffee and liqueurs came to interfere with digestion, Jimmie had dropped his voice to the note _intime_ which women recognize. He half whispered to Esme; his admiration for her was more open than usual.

Sybil talked to a clean-shaven youth who found her very dull, and almost showed it. Who stared when she chattered and admired, and seemed to think it provincial not to take all the world for granted.

"Think her lovely, that dancer woman. All right in her way, I imagine.

What a lovely ice, did you say? S'pose it's all right. Nevah eat 'em myself."

Lord Francis Lennon got up with a sigh of relief to confide to the fair lady of forty who amused him that he hated "dinin' in the nursery."

Outside a new moon lay silver on her azure, star-spangled bed. The lights in the garden were making a glittering circle.

Mr Bellew, a sleek, dark man, who was occasionally recognized by his own guests as their host, rang a bell and read out some rules.

Twenty minutes were given, and then every guest must have a.s.sumed a character, and only used what materials they could find in the heap prepared in the hall. Prizes to be given.

"Think us fools," said Mousie, pulling a green overdress from under a cushion and becoming Undine.