Pip : A Romance of Youth

by Ian Hay

II

However dubious the impression which the new chauffeur had made upon Miss Lottingar, it is only fair to state that the impression made by Miss Lottingar and her gallant papa upon the new chauffeur was more dubious still. Pip, who was not an expert where women were concerned,—only an enthusiastic amateur,—made a mental note that Lottie "looked a good sort, and was a rare pretty girl." Being less biassed and more experienced in regard to his own sex, he was nearer the mark in his estimate of her father. The fact that Lottie's complexion was not entirely her own was unrevealed to him, but he did not fail to write down Captain Lottingar as a "bounder." He observed that his employer, though he carefully pronounced "here" "heah," not infrequently called "nothing" "nothink"; and Pip still possessed enough regard for the fetishes of his youth to be conscious of a thrill of positive horror at the spectacle of a man who wore brown boots with a top-hat on Sunday.

Various guests visited Broadoak,—gentlemen with waxed mustaches and loud garments,—most of whom appeared to be intimate friends of Lottie's. They shot Captain Lottingar's rabbits by day, with indifferent success, and played cards most of the night. Much the most interesting of the guests, however, was the gentleman heretofore referred to as "the Honourable." He was more than a guest at Broadoak,—he was almost one of the family. Captain Lottingar slapped him on the back and called him "my boy"; Captain Lottingar's friends addressed him with admiring deference and borrowed money from him; and Miss Lottingar behaved to him in a manner which left no doubt in the minds of casual observers as to the state of her affections.

The Honourable himself was a pleasant but dissipated-looking youth of about two-and-twenty. His stature was small, and his attainments, beyond those indigenous to every well-born and well-bred young Englishman, insignificant; but his appreciation of the pleasures of life was great. He was a good specimen of that type of young man but for whom chorus-girls would be compelled to pay for their own diamonds. Pending the arrival of the time when he would be called upon to assume the office of an hereditary legislator, he was engaged in what he called "seeing life." He did not see much, though he thought he did, for his field of vision was limited; but what he saw he saw thoroughly. He entertained a great admiration for Captain Lottingar, whom he had encountered at a flashy club in town; and any fleeting doubts, derived from the hints of experienced and officious friends, which he might have entertained as to the genuineness of that warrior's pretensions to gentility were at once set at rest when he arrived, in response to a pressing invitation, on a visit to "my old place in Hertfordshire." A ripening friendship with the Principal Boy was now turning his admiration for the name of Lottingar into positive infatuation; and altogether the Honourable Reginald Fitznorton was in that condition usually described as "ready for plucking."

Pip, who did not as a rule concern himself overmuch with his neighbours' affairs, soon became conscious of a distinct feeling of curiosity in regard to his present surroundings. Captain Lottingar one day mentioned to the Honourable in his hearing that the family of Lottingar had inhabited Broadoak Manor, without intermission, from the days of Queen Elizabeth,—a statement which Pip found rather hard to reconcile with the fact that there lay in the garage at the back of the house a notice-board, showing every sign of having been recently uprooted from the grassplot by the front gate, inscribed with the simple legend "To Let." Moreover, one afternoon, while exploring the numerous passages in the house in search of the Principal Boy's fox-terrier, which he had been bidden to catch and wash, Pip made the discovery that, with the exception of the dining-room, library, kitchens, hall and a few bedrooms, Broadoak Manor was a warren of empty rooms destitute of furniture, though a few of the more conspicuous windows were furnished with curtains.

His fellow-menials also were a curiosity-inspiring crew. The establishment, besides Howard, consisted of a not unattractive middle-aged female who cooked; a beetle-browed individual named Briggs, the keeper, who, though inclined to be reticent on matters connected with that exotic biped, the pheasant, was a mine of information on worldly topics, and a perfect encyclopædia of reference in regard to horse-racing; and a pretty but pert maid, who made eyes at Pip, and once, in a moment of inadvertence, addressed the saintly Howard as "Pa." All were on the best of terms, and sat down to poker in the evening with a regularity and cheerfulness which convinced the inexperienced Pip either that servants' halls were not what he had imagined them to be, or that adversity had landed him in a very shady establishment.

However, he discovered one refreshing and self-evident truth in this home of mystery. There was no doubting the fact that the Honourable's courtship of Miss Lottingar (or Miss Lottingar's courtship of the Honourable, if you happened to live on the other side of the curtain) was fast maturing to a definite conclusion. On numerous motor excursions Pip found himself compelled to combine with his duties as chauffeur the highly necessary but embarrassing rôle of gooseberry. Occasionally Miss Lottingar attempted to drive the car herself, but as a rule Pip had entire charge, the young people sitting together in close companionship in the tonneau behind. Occasionally the car would be stopped, and Pip would be kindly bidden to smoke his pipe, what time the Honourable escorted Miss Lottingar into a neighbouring plantation, to watch hypothetical pheasants feeding; or Miss Lottingar took the Honourable up a by-path, to show him a view which had sprung into existence within the last five minutes.

Pip, simple soul, knew nothing and cared less about the gentle art of husband-hunting. He felt himself irresistibly drawn towards this young couple. He abandoned himself to sentimental sympathy, and drove his car or smoked his pipe with his eyes fixed resolutely before him, thinking of Elsie and wondering if his own turn would ever come.

One day, as they were returning from a long afternoon's spin, the car suddenly slowed down to a stop, and with the complete and maddening finality of its kind refused to move another inch. Pip divested himself of his coat and disappeared beneath the vehicle, emerging after a brief supine scrutiny to announce that the necessary repairs would involve the assistance of a blacksmith and take an hour and a half to execute. The couple received this announcement with marked composure, and left Pip to wrestle with the car, merely bidding him call for them at the "George" at Lindley, two miles ahead, on his way home.

It was dark by the time that the united efforts of Pip and the blacksmith restored the car to a state of kinetic energy, and it was more than two hours before Pip called at the "George" for his passengers. They climbed swiftly into the tonneau, and the car proceeded on its way. His charges were unusually silent, and Pip, turning suddenly to ask for a direction, surprised the Honourable in the act of kissing the Principal Boy's hands.

The Honourable departed next morning for London. In the afternoon the car was ordered round, and Miss Lottie announced her intention of receiving a driving-lesson. Pip instructed her to the best of his ability, and by constant vigilance and the occasional intervention of Providence succeeded in indefinitely prolonging the span of life of two old women, one cow, seven children, and innumerable cocks and hens.

Presently it began to rain.

"Never mind about putting up the hood, Armstrong," said Lottie. "It's a rotten affair—keeps no rain out. Let's run under those thick trees over there."

Pip took the wheel, and the car slid up a narrow lane and came to anchor under the thickest part of an arching grove of chestnuts.

"There," said the Principal Boy, removing her gloves, "I feel regularly done up. My hands are all of a shake after that beastly wheel. Am I improving?"

"You are a good deal steadier than you were—Miss," said Pip.

"That's all right. Much obliged for your help. You're a good sort, Armstrong."

"Armstrong" turned extremely pink.

"Look here," continued Lottie breezily, "I'm tired of calling you Armstrong. What's your name?"

"Er—John."

"Right-o! I shall call you Jack. And now, Jack, I want to ask you something. What are you doing driving a motor-car?"

"Jack" regarded his mistress with some apprehension.

"Why shouldn't I drive a motor-car?" he asked, rather defiantly.

"Why? Because you're a gentleman. Bless you, dear boy, do you think I didn't spot that long ago? What was it—debts?"

"Debts" seemed to meet the requirements of the situation without unduly straining the truth, so Pip nodded.

"Ah!" said Miss Lottingar sympathetically; "I know. We have been that way all our lives in our family."

Pip thought of Broadoak Manor and its present proprietor, and felt no surprise.

"Dad has lived on his wits ever since I can remember," continued Miss Lottingar. "I suppose you see what sort of a customer he is?" she added, in a sudden burst of candour.

Pip nodded again. "I think I do," he said.

"He's a game old chap, is Dad," continued the dutiful daughter, "but he's on the lowest peg at present. However, I landed the Honourable last night, so things ought to look up now."

Pip, who regarded the love of a man for a maid as something rather more sacred than honour itself, fairly gasped at this offhand remark.

"You mean—you are engaged to him?"

"Yes," said the Principal Boy in a matter-of-fact tone. "He asked me last night at the 'George,' when you were tinkering at the car."

"Oh! Congratulations!" said Pip awkwardly.

"Thanks. But all the hard work has to come yet."

"What do you mean?"

"We've landed him. Now we have to skin him!"

After this somewhat unfeeling reference to her intended, Miss Lottie sat silent, evidently wondering whether her sudden liking for the quiet chauffeur had not caused her to be a little indiscreet.

Presently Pip said—

"I suppose he has gone to London to tell his father?"

"The Earl? Not much. I made Fitz promise to avoid the old man till I gave him leave. He has gone up to town for the engagement ring. When he gets back to-morrow he is going to write and tell him everything. That will bring his lordship down here double-quick, and we'll settle everything in one fair, square, up-and-down scrap." Miss Lottingar almost smacked her lips.

"Will the Earl object, then?"

"Object? My dear boy, look at me!"

Pip looked. He saw a pair of bold black eyes, a very red and entrancing mouth, a retroussé nose, an alluringly dimpled chin, and a good deal of glinting coppery hair. Individually these features were distinctly attractive, but there was something about the tout ensemble that supplied an immediate answer to the owner's extremely frank question.

"You'll know me again," said Miss Lottingar, rather faintly.

"Beg your pardon," said Pip, ungluing his gaze with a jerk. "Bad habit I've got. Yes, perhaps he will object."

"I should think so. 'Fast girl—shady father—with all their goods in the shop window!' That's what the old man will see, if he's the least bit less of a fool than his son."

"But," said Pip, "won't he consent if he sees that you really—care for each other?"

"Afraid he won't see that," said Miss Lottingar composedly.

Pip stared.

"You mean you don't really care for Fitznorton at all?" he said.

"My dear boy, have you seen him?" inquired Lottie plaintively.

"Yes. But—why on earth are you going to marry him?"

"I'm not quite certain that I am," said the Principal Boy coolly.

"But you said you were."

"I said I was engaged to him."

"Sorry! I had an idea it was the same thing," said Pip.

Lottie gazed at him, not without a certain admiration.

"Not quite," she said. "You're a simple old chap, Jack, but I like you for it; so I'll tell you what we are going to do. When the Earl comes down here—the day after to-morrow, I expect—Dad and I will interview him. Fitz won't be there: I shall send him out into the woods to chase rabbits. Then we shall point out to the old dear that if the engagement is not permitted my heart will be broken."

"Oh!"

"You see?"

"I begin to. What will it cost to repair it?"

"A hundred thousand pounds."

"You value your heart at rather a high figure."

"He can afford the money: it's a mere fleabite to him. He is one of the richest men in England."

"Well?"

"If he agrees, I sign a paper renouncing all claim to Fitz. The Earl writes a cheque, takes Fitz home in a bandbox, and Dad is on his legs again. That's all."

"Suppose the Earl doesn't agree?"

"He will. It will be a pill for him, but he doesn't want the family name dragged through the law courts."

"But suppose?"

"Well, if he does, we are ready for him. If he ab-so-lute-ly refuses, I go to the front door, whistle up Fitz, pop him into this motor, skim off to Lindley, and get married by special licence. Fitz has agreed, and has the licence in his pocket now. Then I shall have an even stronger card to play—do you see?"

"Afraid not. Too deep for me."

"Well, once we're legally married, the old chap will find that as a real wife I am far more expensive to get rid of than before."

"Get rid of?"

"Yes. He wouldn't think of admitting me to his almighty family circle. He would have to ask now what I would take to live apart from Fitz."

"Live apart?"

"Yes."

"And you'd agree?"

"For two hundred thousand—yes."

"My word! You'd leave your husband?"

"Yes. You don't suppose I want to spend all my days with an image like Fitz, do you?"

Lottie threw herself back petulantly in her seat. Presently Pip laid his hand on her arm.

"Don't!" said he.

"Don't what?"

"Don't be drawn into this affair."

"Why not? Seems to me I'm in it pretty thick already."

"You could break it off—at once. It would be the kindest thing to do."

"It would be a blamed silly thing to do," said Miss Lottingar frankly.

"Do you care for him at all?"

"Fitz? Not a rap."

"But—do you like him?"

"Oh, yes! He's a decent little sort."

"Well, just think what it would mean to him if he married you, and then—found out."

"Um!" said Miss Lottie thoughtfully.

"Besides," continued Pip, following up his advantage, "think of yourself."

"I usually do," said Lottie.

"Women were never meant for that low-down sort of game," said Pip, getting to the heart of his subject.

Suddenly Lottie blazed out.

"There you go! Women, women, women! I wonder if there was ever a man in this world that could treat a woman sensibly. Some men—most men—look upon women as fair game, and treat them accordingly. The others—men like you—look on them as little pot angels, and shudder when they show they are made of flesh and blood. Women are human beings, no better and no worse than men, only they don't get the chances men do, Jack. That's all—human beings! Remember that."

"It's a hard world for women, I know," said Pip, rather staggered by this outburst. "But some good chap is bound to come along and—er—make you happy, and all that. Hasn't there ever been—anybody of that kind?"

"Lots."

"None you cared about, perhaps?"

"Not one. Well, there was one. Jim Lister is his name. He is assistant stage-manager at the Crown Theatre."

"Well?" said Pip hopefully.

"I—I liked him well enough, but we should always have been poor—awfully poor—and—"

"If a couple are really fond of each other, nothing else matters a damn," said Pip, with conviction. "Sorry! I mean you might do worse."

Lottie rounded on him.

"There you go again. 'Might do worse!' 'Be thankful for small mercies!' It's a rotten game being a woman, Jack. You are a man and can't understand. But if you'd had as hard a time as I have,—yes, and if you'd seen half as much of this world as I have,—you'd be gentler with me, Jack."

Certainly the conversation was taking an unexpected turn. Pip was completely out of his depth. Ten minutes ago he had been a respectful chauffeur, teaching a rather flamboyant young mistress how to drive a car. Now he was sitting by the selfsame young mistress, holding her arm in a friendly fashion, and talking to her as an elder brother might talk to a petulant child.

The irregularity of the situation apparently struck Miss Lottingar at the same moment, for, with one of those swift and characteristically feminine changes of mood which leave mere man toiling helplessly behind in the trammels of logical consistency, she abruptly released her arm, observed brightly that the rain had ceased, wondered if it wouldn't turn out a fine evening after all, and bade Armstrong drive home as fast as possible.