The adventurous lady

by J. C. Snaith

Elfreda rose at once with the meaningful look that both ladies had now come to dislike so intensely. General Norris convoyed her to the drawing room door and opened it with a deference not lost upon them. Moreover they observed the frank and ready smile with which she rewarded the young man and the look he gave her in return.

Elfreda went to her chill nest very well content with her evening’s work. She had made the discovery already that but for the presence in the house of General Norris, life at The Laurels as nursery governess would be quite insupportable. However, he was a very interesting young man and the fact lent piquancy to the situation. And the manner in which the other ladies had chosen to bear themselves in it had roused Elfreda’s fighting spirit to a perilous pitch. More than ever was she determined to “ride off” the fair Dolores; and she also expected a reasonable measure of amusement in the process.

Meanwhile in the drawing room the mistress of the house was seeking balm for her protégé. “I will see that she dines upstairs to-morrow, dear.” With these discreetly whispered words did Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson salve the wounds of the fair Dolores as General Norris closed the door softly and smilingly upon the new governess.

XVI

In the meantime gloom and anxiety reigned at Clavering Park. By just missing the bus from the Pendennis Arms, Pikey delayed her return from The Laurels until nearly three o’clock. Therefore Miss Cass decided to obey orders and by pleading a headache take luncheon in bed. Several good reasons led her to do so. Apart from the fact that Girlie’s respect for her stern custodian was tinged with awe, she was more comfortable in the security of her own room than she was likely to be anywhere else in that house at that moment. Besides, although she had given up a whole morning to the diligent study of “The Lady of Laxton,” at present she was very far from being word perfect in her part; thus she did not feel equal to the task of going through a rehearsal that afternoon. And sum and crown of all her woes, was the haunting continual fear of the arrival of Mr. Montagu Jupp.

That veritable Old Man of the Sea was expected from London by the four o’clock train. It needed no great amount of foresight on the part of Miss Cass to realize that when that event happened the game would be up. All the morning as she wrestled with Sir Toby’s dialogue, Mr. Montagu Jupp was a specter in the background of her thoughts. Should she make a clean breast of the matter there and then and so anticipate the public exposure that was inevitable later in the day? She was in such a state of panic that there seemed much to be said for that course, yet after all, as further reflection showed, there was nothing to gain by a bootless confession. At all events it would be wise to await the return of Pikey, if only because she had promised to bring Lady Elfreda with her. But there could be no building upon that. It was always possible, of course, that the Evil Genius was already bored sufficiently by her taste of drudgery to come and face the music, but poor Girlie was very far from counting upon the fact.

Pikey, however, returned Elfreda-less but terribly cross. Indeed “cross” was altogether too mild a word for her mood. It was really so savage that for a time the hapless Deputy could do nothing with her. Moreover, so completely was Girlie under the spell of Mr. Montagu Jupp that her will became inert. In sheer desperation she resigned herself to her bed for the rest of that day at least. By that means she would avoid Mr. Montagu Jupp until the morrow and so put off the hour of discovery.

Downstairs, in the meantime, consternation was rife. The sudden indisposition of the leading lady had caused the first rehearsal to be postponed. But Sir Toby was by profession an optimist. He looked at the world he lived in and all the beings who inhabited it through rose-colored spectacles. It was “good form” to do so. Every woman of his acquaintance was “a dear” or she was “charming,” every man was “a sportsman” and a good fellow. Clouds had been known to obscure the sun now and again, but after all they were only a temporary matter. He was a believer in a bright and cheerful world. That was the only side of the picture he could ever condescend to recognize. Nevertheless, even Sir Toby allowed, in the privacy of his heart, that “The Lady of Laxton” might prove an ambitious undertaking for a decidedly scratch company at short notice.

However, the author of the piece had a real stand-by in Montagu Jupp. That famous man was said by common report “to know the theater backwards.” He had only to set his hand to the business for all to be well. His arrival by the four o’clock train was eagerly awaited. Even Sir Toby’s optimism deigned to regard the coming of the great and admired Montagu as a sine qua non. He knew all about everything, theatrically speaking. Not only was he a “producer,” he was a Napoleon among producers. And on his own showing he had yet to learn the meaning of the word “failure.”

Alas, when the omnibus returned from Clavering station on the stroke of five, a chill descended upon the bevy of tea drinkers in the hall. The great man had not arrived. But in lieu of him a telegram had been handed to the chauffeur on the journey home. It was addressed to Sir Toby Philpot and it contained the dire news that Mr. Montagu Jupp was “unavoidably detained, important business.”