The Reflections of Ambrosine Part 24

I remained in haughty silence. I feared I should burst into screams of laughter if I attempted speech.

Miss Springle had evaded us at the last minute, and could be seen once more by Mr. Dodd's side as we drove past the shooters again on the road.

A meek woman, sister of Mr. McCormack, a Mrs. Broun by name, who had quietly stood by her husband and had not been in any one's way, now caught Mrs. Dodd's wrath.

"You've had a good deal to do with Jessie Springle's bringing up, I've heard, Mrs. Broun, since her mother died, and a disgrace she is to you, I can testify."

"Oh, dear Mrs. Dodd, how can you say such a thing?" said Mrs. Broun, almost crying. "Jessie is a dear girl, so full of fun."

"Fun, you call it, Mrs. Broun! Looking after other women's husbands!

How would you like her to be flirting with your Tom?"

(This is the spirit my mother-in-law would approve of.)

"Oh, it is quite immodest, talking so, Mrs. Dodd!" replied the meek lady, flushing scarlet. "Why, no one would ever think of such things--a girl to flirt with a married man!"

"That's all you know about it, Mrs. Broun. I tell you that girl will upset your home yet! Mark my words; but I'll not have her running after Wullie, anyway."

The situation was becoming very strained. I felt bound to interfere by some _ba.n.a.l_ remarks about the scenery, and finally we arrived back at Ledstone and I got rid of them by conducting them to their rooms.

IX

It poured rain again before the sportsmen returned, and they were more or less wet and cross. Antony went straight to his room to change, and so did the two other decent men. But the commercial friends stayed as they were, muddy boots and all, and were grouped round the fire, smelling of wet, hot tweed, when Mrs. Dodd sailed into the room.

"Wullie," she said, sternly, "you've no more sense than a child, and if it was not for me you'd have been in your coffin these five years.

Go up-stairs this minute and change your boots." And off she sent him, but not without a parting shot from Miss Springle.

"Mind you put on a blue velvet smoking-suit, Mr. Dodd, dear. I do love gentlemen in smoking-suits," she said, giggling.

Tea was a terrible function. Oh, the difference to the merry tea at Harley!

Lady Wakely, sleepily knitting and addressing an occasional observation to her neighbor; the rest of the women silent as the grave, except Miss Springle and Mrs. Dodd, who sparred together like two cats.

The men could talk of nothing but the war news which had come by the afternoon post.

There was a gloom over the whole party. How on earth was I to escape from the oppression? They were not people of the world, who would be accustomed to each person doing what they pleased. They expected to be entertained all the time. To get away from them for a moment I would be obliged to invent some elaborate excuse.

Antony had not appeared upon the scene, or Augustus, either.

At last--at last Lady Wakely put her knitting in a bag and made a move towards the door.

"I shall rest now," she said, in her fat, kind voice, and I accompanied her from the room, leaving the rest of my guests to take care of themselves. I felt I should throw the cups at their heads if I stayed any longer.

There, in the hall, was Antony, quietly reading the papers. His dark-blue and black silk smoking-suit was extraordinarily becoming. He looked like a person from another planet after the people I had left in the drawing-room.

He rose as we pa.s.sed him.

"Some very interesting South African news," he said, addressing me, and while I stopped to answer him Lady Wakely went up the stairs alone.

"The draughts are dreadful here again, Comtesse," he said, plaintively.

"Why did you not go into the library, then," I said, "or the billiard-room, or one of the drawing-rooms?"

"I thought perhaps you might pa.s.s this way and would give me your advice as to which room to choose."

I laughed. "The library, then, I suggest," and I started as if to go up the stairs.

"Comtesse! You would not leave me all alone, would you? You have not told me half enough about our ancestors yet."

"Oh, I am tired of the ancestors!" and I mounted one step and looked back.

"I thought perhaps you would help me to tie up my wrist."

I came down instantly. If he were pretending, I would punish him later.

"Come," I said, and led the way to the library, where we found the fire had gone out.

How ashamed I felt of the servants! This must never happen again.

"Not here; it is cold and horrid." And he followed me on into my mother-in-law's boudoir. There were no lights and no fire.

My wrath rose.

"It must be your mustard sitting-room, after all," said Antony. So up the stairs we went. Here, at all events, the fire blazed, and the room glowed with brilliancy.

Roy was lying on the rug and seemed enchanted to see us.

"Is it really hurting you?" I said, hurriedly.

"No, not hurting--only a stupid little scratch." And he undid his shirt-cuff and turned up his sleeve.

"Oh!" I exclaimed. "Oh, I am so sorry!"

One of the shots had grazed the skin and made a nasty cut, which was plastered up with sticking-plaster and clumsily tied with a handkerchief.

"My servant is not a genius at this sort of thing. Will you do it better, Comtesse?"

I bound the handkerchief as neatly as I could, and, for some unexplained reason, as once before at Harley, my heart beat in my throat. I could feel his eyes watching me, although my head was bent.

I did not look up until the arm was finished. His shirt was of the finest fine. There was some subtle scent about his coat that pleased me. A faint perfume, as of very good cigars--nothing sweet and effeminate, like a woman. It intensely appealed to me. I felt--I felt--oh, I do not know at all what my feelings meant. I tried to think of grandmamma, and how she would have told me to behave when I was nervous. I had never been so nervous in my life before.

"You--you will not shoot to-morrow?" I faltered.

"Of course I shall. You must not trouble about this at all, Comtesse.

It is the merest scratch, and was a pure accident. He is an excellent fellow, Mr.--er--Dodd is his name, is it not? Only pity is he did not shoot his wife, poor fellow!"