Читать книгу The Altar of Honour - Ethel M. Dell - Страница 11

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“You’ll have to amuse yourself to a certain extent, my dear,” was Sylvia Merrion’s good-natured warning to Charmaine on the evening of her arrival at the luxurious flat in Mayfair in which she and her husband were domiciled for the season. “I’ll give you as many treats as I can, but I can’t be running round after you all the time.”

“I like amusing myself,” said Charmaine.

It was such a relief to be with someone who did not care how she spent her time, and Sylvia was as easy-going as Griselda was strict. Charmaine’s one idea was to give as little trouble as possible, but with Sylvia there was no need to be self-effacing. Sylvia never inconvenienced herself for anyone. If Charmaine had a dull time, well, it couldn’t be helped. Girls were no longer dependent upon their chaperones for amusement. They looked after themselves, and the chaperones did the same. Such at least was Sylvia’s attitude, though she detailed her French maid to keep an eye on her charge until she had begun to find her way about. Marie, at first inclined to be deeply scornful of the shy country girl thus foisted upon her, became after the first three days strongly attached to Charmaine, and ended by boldly suggesting to her mistress that the wardrobe so urgently needed by Mademoiselle might with advantage be entrusted to her either to procure or to manufacture, Marie being an undoubted genius in all things connected with dress.

Sylvia received the suggestion with enthusiasm, being far too much engrossed with her own affairs to spare any time herself for the consideration of Charmaine’s outfit, and so Marie shouldered the responsibility, and took upon herself the pleasing task of making Mademoiselle into as beautiful a picture as the means at her disposal would permit. It was not a very lavish allowance which Sylvia provided, but Marie had the gift for making much out of little, and she also knew how to wheedle small extras out of her easy-going mistress, and various items of Sylvia’s raiment found their way in an adapted form into Charmaine’s wardrobe. It took Marie just three weeks to turn the insignificant, unfashionable Charmaine into a being of such arresting and unusual beauty that neither of the former adjectives could ever with justice be applied to her again. And it was not so much a transformation that Marie in her subtlety effected, but a deft revelation of the loveliness already there. Marie had been blessed with a seeing eye, which no delicate possibility ever escaped. She was far too clever to attempt to make a scarlet poppy out of a pure white rose, but her plan was to accentuate its purity until it became almost dazzling.

Charmaine, entering her sister’s drawing-room on a certain bright spring Sunday afternoon, attired in one of the simplest frocks of Marie’s contriving, was greeted by an amazed stare from Sylvia who at the moment was surrounded by guests. It was the first time that Charmaine had made her appearance in public, and it was in fact only to satisfy Marie’s importunities that she had brought herself to do so on this occasion. So little impression had she made in the household since her arrival that Sylvia had almost forgotten her. Her own engagements were many, and it was obvious that Charmaine could not be accorded any sort of place in society until Marie had completed a suitable wardrobe for her. But now, as the girl entered the room with the sedate grace of one prepared to risk rather than challenge attention, Sylvia was completely taken by surprise.

For Charmaine was exquisite—a fairy creature of unconscious allurement, perfect as a miniature in every detail, yet so completely natural as to shine like a woodland flower in a garden of exotics.

“Good heavens!” said old Lady Cravenstowe, lifting her glasses. “Who in the world is this?”

There fell a murmuring pause in the room, and Charmaine who had thought to slip out of sight behind a huge tub of azaleas found herself the sudden and most unwilling centre of attention. She glanced around her, almost with a view to ignominious retreat, when Sylvia’s voice reached her, and she paused between relief and dismay.

“Don’t run away again, Charmaine!” her sister said. “Come over here and be presented to Lady Cravenstowe!”

The use of the Christian name she loved, now so rarely heard, gave Charmaine courage. She came forward, blushing, smiling.

“My dear, what a dream!” said Lady Cravenstowe. “I’ve never seen anyone more like an angel in my life!”

“My little sister!” said Sylvia, drawing her forward. “She is just up from the country for a glimpse of London.”

Lady Cravenstowe dropped her glasses and peered at Charmaine, finally taking her by the hand and patting her cheek. “Lucky London!” she remarked. “What is it they call you? Charmaine? A very suitable name!”

Charmaine’s blush deepened, but she did not shrink from the hawk-like eyes, for their look was kindly.

“I’m glad you think so,” she said shyly.

“I do indeed,” declared Lady Cravenstowe. “I think it’s a great mistake to try to keep a lovely girl in ignorance of her gift. Not that most of them need much telling; but you seem to be an exception. Why have they kept you hidden down in the country all this time? What do you do there?”

Charmaine stammered a little at this direct questioning. “I—I don’t know. Lot of things—but nothing—nothing important.”

“She isn’t eighteen yet,” said Sylvia, coming to her aid. “She hasn’t had time to do very much.”

“What! Just left school?” questioned Lady Cravenstowe. “What a glorious age, to be sure! And what do you think of London, young lady? Is it as amusing as the country?”

“Oh, much more,” said Charmaine, low-voiced but fervent. “I love London, though of course I love the country too.”

A man, standing beside Lady Cravenstowe, laughed. “Don’t you find London very wicked?” he said.

“Be quiet, Robert!” commanded Lady Cravenstowe. “She doesn’t know what wickedness means, and you’re not to tell her. This is Sir Robert Blakeley, my dear. I may as well make you acquainted with him at once, as he is sure to achieve it somehow.”

Charmaine found herself shaking hands with a cheery little man whose black eyes smiled quizzically upon her from behind his eyeglass. There was admiration as well as merriment in his smile, and a thrill of pleasure went through her. How clever of Marie to make her look so nice!

“We’re not all as wicked as Lady Cravenstowe would have you believe,” he assured her, “and I personally have no knowledge whatever of the particular vice to which she refers. It takes a woman of brains to invent anything like original sin nowadays.”

A tall girl, very beautifully dressed, standing by laughed scoffingly. “My dear man, there’s no such thing,” she said. “And I don’t believe there ever was, do you? Goodness is the only original thing left, and that’s always been so unfashionable that nobody would ever own to it.”

“Nobody?” questioned Sir Robert.

“Nobody who is anybody, and those who do haven’t got it.” She laughed again scornfully.

“In that case,” said Sir Robert, with his eye upon Charmaine, “it behoves us to make the most of it when we meet it. Come and sit down and tell us what you do in the country! Yes, I’m sure you do something. You needn’t pretend.”

“I don’t really know what I do,” said Charmaine, a little bewildered. “I just help to keep things in order, that’s all.”

“Oh, you won’t get anything out of her,” laughed Sylvia. “She hasn’t any hobbies except needlework and she doesn’t care for games.”

“I say,” said Sir Robert, “you don’t work samplers, do you?”

“No,” said Charmaine with simplicity. “I only darn holes.”

The shout of mirth that greeted this reply disconcerted her, and again she threw an instinctive glance around her as if in search of some means of escape.

“Oh don’t!” implored Sir Robert. “Don’t go! Tell us some more! Is your name Cinderella by any chance?”

“Robert!” Here broke in Lady Cravenstowe authoritatively. “You are not behaving properly. Linda, I wish you’d look after him and keep him in order.”

“I?” said the tall girl contemptuously. “Oh, I’d rather be excused, if you don’t mind. He’s no responsibility of mine.”

Charmaine, noting the metallic hardness of her voice, wondered what Sir Robert had done to annoy her. She herself, though the object of his amusement, was not annoyed, only embarrassed.

But Lady Cravenstowe had decided apparently to take her under her own ample protection, and drew her down forthwith on to a settee beside her.

“Don’t take any notice of these scatter-brains!” she said. “They are all foolish and frivolous, Sir Robert Blakeley especially. Perhaps I had better tell you that he is called Baba Blacksheep by all who know him best.”

“That only means that I am a rare specimen of the flock,” explained the owner of the name. “A genuine black sheep is a much safer proposition than one of the white variety with a possible wolf inside. You never hear of wolves masquerading as black sheep anyhow.”

“Oh, go away!” said Lady Cravenstowe. “Why aren’t you at the Bar? Your talents are completely wasted.”

“Quite,” he agreed. “I’ve always been told so, but you’ll admit I don’t dig a hole and bury them, anyway. Everyone can see and admire my brilliance.”

Charmaine laughed suddenly, and in a fashion that surprised herself. The careless bandying of words appealed to a sense of humour within her which till then had lain almost dormant. It was a ringing childish laugh that made several people turn and smile, and from that moment curiously her shyness passed. It was as though she had stepped into a new and warmer atmosphere out of the bleak desert that had been her habitation for so long. Lady Cravenstowe could not have known this, but she regarded her with a shrewd interest that seemed to quicken with every manifestation of spontaneous enjoyment that she evinced. She kept Charmaine beside her throughout the afternoon in the centre of her own little circle, and when at length she rose to go, she took her hand and held it impressively.

“Now listen, my dear!” she said. “I want you to come and have luncheon with me to-morrow, quite informally. Of course I shall ask your sister too, but if she has an engagement, will you be very brave and come alone?”

“Oh yes,” said Charmaine. “I should simply love it.”

She spoke straight from her heart. That one brief experience of the unknown world of society had been to her like a glimpse of fairyland, and she longed intensely to see more.

Sir Robert Blakeley, standing by, heard the invitation. “I say, do ask me too!” he pleaded. “I’ll be awfully good, and I won’t tell her anything she ought not to know.”

Lady Cravenstowe shook her head at him. “Wait till you’re asked, Baba!” she said severely. “You’re not behaving at all nicely to-day.”

“Really, I meant well,” he protested. “And I was going to suggest a visit to the Zoo afterwards as a pleasant and innocent diversion. But I shall get Cinderella to come with me another day, that’s all. You will, won’t you?” he added to Charmaine with his swift persuasive smile. “We’ll ride on the elephants and have all sorts of fun.”

“No,” said Lady Cravenstowe before she could speak. “I doubt if she will. She will probably have much better things to do. Very well, my dear, then that is settled. Now I will speak to your sister.”

She kept Charmaine’s hand in hers and drew her with her as she moved to do so, leaving Sir Robert looking after her in semi-rueful amusement. “You wait a little, my dear,” she said kindly, “before you accept any invitations of that sort!”

And Charmaine received the advice without question. She was quite sure that Lady Cravenstowe knew best, though she was a little regretful on Sir Robert’s account; for he had certainly meant to be kind.

She listened with some anxiety as her new friend proffered her invitation to her sister, but it was soon laid to rest. Sylvia extended instant and smiling acceptance on her behalf, though she was compelled to admit another engagement on her own.

“Such a pity! I’d have loved to have come,” she said. “But of course Charmaine shall if you are sure you can put up with her.”

“I shall be delighted to see her,” said Lady Cravenstowe graciously. “Good-bye—and many thanks! Good-bye, my dear! I shall look for you at one o’clock to-morrow.”

It had almost the sound of a Royal command, and Charmaine thrilled in answer with eager anticipation.

“I shall simply love it,” she reiterated.

And Lady Cravenstowe smiled upon her, and took her leave.

When everyone was gone, Sylvia called her little sister to her for the first time since her arrival.

“Well, Charmaine,” she said, “I congratulate you—and I suppose I ought to congratulate Marie also for turning you out so well. She certainly has surpassed herself, and I must say I had no idea you would be so well worth while. You have made a great impression on old Lady Cravenstowe. She seems to want to take you under her wing altogether. She’ll probably end by wanting to present you.”

“Oh, Sylvia!” said Charmaine, quivering at the thought. “You don’t think that really?”

Sylvia laughed. “I can’t say. More wonderful things have happened. She is a lady of considerable influence, and you are very lucky to have attracted her attention. But you will have to go carefully with her, for she is very capricious. Ah, here is Bentleigh! I have been congratulating Charlotte on the success of her first appearance.”

She addressed her husband who entered the room with the air of pomposity peculiar to him. He was a stout man well on in the fifties, for whom Charmaine had no feeling but a scarcely defined instinct of avoidance.

He looked at her now with a calculating expression as if placing a mental price upon her. “Yes, yes,” he said. “A good first impression is very useful. Mind you keep it up! You’ll find it’ll pay.”

“She has actually been asked to lunch with Lady Cravenstowe to-morrow,” Sylvia said. “I couldn’t go, so the invitation was extended to her alone.”

Sir Bentleigh beamed at the news. “Hullo! That looks like business! Everyone knows that she is on the look-out for a suitable partner for that aristocratic nephew of hers, young Conister. What are you frowning at, Sylvia? Girls are not such humbugs nowadays as to pretend to be shocked at the idea of marriage.”

“No, but it’s a pity to count one’s chickens before they’re hatched,” said Sylvia. “And I can’t believe that Charlotte would ever have any attraction for men—not anyhow men who are in a position to choose stylish girls like Linda Kennedy.”

“Oh, that girl is too sophisticated!” declared her husband. “Besides, she’s always about with that Baba Blacksheep as they call him, so who’s likely to run after her?”

“I believe she is fond of him,” said Sylvia. “But goodness knows! They’re a funny crowd. Don’t you get too intimate with him, Charlotte! Hullo! Where are you?”

Charmaine was at the door. She looked back deprecatingly. “I didn’t think you wanted me. I was just going to tell Marie all about it—and about to-morrow.”

“All right, country-mouse, run along!” said her brother-in-law indulgently. “We’ve seen enough of you for a little while.”

Charmaine went with hot cheeks, but with feet that scampered in tune to the amazing and unexpected leaping of her heart. For the first time the dark dread of an enforced return to Griselda which had always hitherto overhung her was lifted and she saw golden vistas of possibilities such as she had never envisaged before.