For a full hour Lord Duckingfield was allowed to monopolize the chief guest. And no one challenged his right. The hostess had reached the conclusion already that she was “heavy cake”; the other ladies were already divided in their minds as to whether Lady Elfreda was or was not half-witted. She would improve on acquaintance no doubt, but as Mrs. Spencer-Jobling, a bold lady in pink, found occasion to hint to Sir Toby, the immediate outlook for his masterpiece was not encouraging.
“But they say she can act like blazes you know.” Sir Toby clung to that belief in the teeth of growing skepticism. “Monty Jupp says when he’s coached her a bit more she’ll be quite equal to any of the professionals.”
“Well, we shall see,” said Mrs. Spencer-Jobling who prided herself on being without illusion on any subject. “But with Miss Kitwood we should have been absolutely safe.”
Sir Toby, allowing his eyes to stray to the animated picture on the distant sofa, was impelled to discount the pessimism of Mrs. Spencer-Jobling. She was quite the prettiest little Puss he had seen in a month of Sundays, and old man Duckingfield, that astute midlander, evidently thought so too.
When bedtime came for the ladies, Sir Toby contrived a broad hint for Lady Elfreda as he politely opened the drawing room door. “I’m afraid you have a hard day to-morrow,” he said. “Your part is a long one and there isn’t much time to study it before the rehearsals begin. So mind you have a good night’s rest.”
Alas, had it been Sir Toby’s intention to deprive the little lady of the boon he was so urgently recommending no words could have been better calculated for the purpose. They almost ensured a sleepless vigil. At the prospect before her, Girlie felt one more chill along her spine. All the same as she went up the stairs with the other ladies and forced herself by sheer power of will to give them a gay good-night, the paramount emotion was triumph. She had come through a grim ordeal quite brilliantly. No one had appeared to suspect her, and incredible as the fact might seem, she had almost enjoyed herself! The morrow, it was true, was dark indeed, but already her life had known one unforgettable moment.
“Now mind you sleep well, Lady Elfreda.” The hostess took an effusive leave of her on the threshold of King Edward’s bedroom. “And no one is expected to show at breakfast unless they particularly wish to do so. So we shall not feel offended if you stay in bed all morning and study your part.”
XII
Pikey, with a shawl round her shoulders, was dozing by the bedroom fire. She was awaiting the Deputy’s return and doing her best to keep awake. Sleepy as she was, her reception of Miss No-Class was decidedly rough and yet less rough than might have been the case had she not been already informed in the servants’ hall by Mr. Pierce, the butler, that in the matter of looks her young ladyship could give all the other ladies points and a beating.
Mr. Pierce meant well, but it was a left handed compliment, that was the best that could be said for it, yet in a sense Pikey felt rather gratified. The verdict of Mr. Pierce at any rate implied that Miss No-Class had borne herself throughout the evening quite as well as was to have been expected. So far, apparently, she had not given herself away.