Читать книгу The Ninth Earl - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 10

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With only the briefest of side glances at that shining brass plate which proclaimed these the business premises of Messrs. Jackman, Son, and Bell, George mounted the three steps leading up to the gracious doorway and entered the spacious outer office, there to be greeted most deferentially by Mr. Beeby, the head clerk, and bowed to by the four juniors, which salutations he returned as politely; then, entering Mr. Jackman’s sanctum, his own during that gentleman’s absence, he laid by hat and stick and was about to ring for the morning letters, when with gentle tap Mr. Beeby entered to bow again and say:

“Excuse me, Mr. Bell, sir, but——”

“Hold hard!” exclaimed George. “What the deuce? Why all this confounded bowing and scraping, Ned?”

“Well, sir, now that you are a partner——”

“I’m still George, especially to you, old fellow! You and I have been ‘George’ and ‘Ned’ too long for any such nonsensical change. So ‘Ned’ and ‘George’ we shall remain. Is this understood?”

“Yes, yes, indeed!” sighed Mr. Beeby, smoothing his grey hair with thin, nervous hand. “It is very, very gracious and—and George-like, Mr. George, but indeed——”

“Then drop the formality, Ned; do not bow and scrape or ‘sir’ and ‘mister’ me.”

“Very well ... and thank you, George, there shall be no formality between us—except on formal occasions,” said Mr. Beeby warmly and with one of his too-infrequent smiles. “And now—this letter! It was brought by a mounted servant in the Ravenhurst livery, about twenty minutes before your arrival, and I was directed to hand it personally to none but yourself——”

Mr. Beeby did so, then, checking a bow, went out, closing the door softly behind him.

Now glancing at this letter George saw it was sealed by a great smear of wax and bore the one carelessly scrawled word:

“Bell.”

Breaking the seal, he read these words, written with the same contemptuous lack of care:

“Lady Clytie Moor takes pleasure to inform and warn the Bell person she has procured a larger and much stronger whip. Let Insolent Vulgarity beware.”

George read this once and laughed, read it twice and scowled, perused it a third time and, acting on hotly youthful impulse, seized the nearest quill and scribbled this answer:

“The Bell person has the insolence to present his vulgar compliments to Lady Clytie Moor and suggests she take lessons in the proper manage of horses and herself. He also hopes she will not annoy him again by the infliction of her presence with or without a whip.”

Having folded, sealed and addressed this missive, he summoned one of the junior clerks, a round-eyed, shock-headed, sharp-nosed young gentleman, to whom he gave the letter, saying:

“Wilks—Tom, old fellow, pray bear this letter to Lady Clytie Moor at the Castle—to her personally, mind! If possible watch her read it, and, anyhow, wait an answer. Use your eyes and ears and report to me here as soon as possible. Off with you!”

So away sped Tom, glad to be free of the office, while George sat to read the morning’s correspondence, write or dictate answers, and thereafter dispatch such other business as required attention; thus the morning was well advanced when he bade “come in” to one who knocked, whereupon Mr. Wilks reappeared, and his eyes seemed rounder and hair rather more on end than usual as, closing the door, he exclaimed:

“George, I say you know, b’gad she—— No, beg pardon, sir, I was forgetting! What I mean to say is——”

“Take a deep breath, Tom, and a chair! Now sit back and let’s hear. You saw the lady and gave her my letter?”

“I did, sir, and she was—annoyed!”

“Merely annoyed, no more?”

“B’gad, yes, George—sir, she was most shocking angry!”

“Good!” murmured George.

“Sir, she was so furious she raged at me as if I was to blame!”

“Better and better!” sighed George.

“Then she—she actually hurled your letter on the carpet and stamped on it!”

“Excellent, Tom! Stamped on it, did she?”

“With both feet, sir, and mighty pretty ones they are! Then she snatched it up, tore it to pieces and threw the bits at me!”

“Splendid!” said George. “Poor old Tom, the wonder is she didn’t tear and trample you as well!”

“By heavens, Geor’—sir, for a moment I was afraid she would—the way she flamed and glared at me, and then she—actually and positively—swore!”

“Mag-nificent!” sighed George in a kind of ecstasy. “What said she, Tom; her very words—what?”

“Well, sir, what she said and how she said it was very strange and mighty queer ... for in the very midst of her fury—she smiled at me very kindly and said in voice like cooing dove: ‘Pray tell your’—these are her actual words—‘your damned Bell, I’ll ring him till he cracks—or I do! Tell him I’ll crush his very heart—like this!’ and she pressed that pretty foot of hers into the carpet. ‘Just like this!’ says she, smiling. ‘Or he shall crush mine! Say that to your Mr. Accursed Bell and let him be warned!’ Then she left me and—well, here I am, and mighty glad to be. For ’twixt you and me, old fell—sir, though I adore the sex—to stamp and trample on a fellow’s heart is coming it a bit too strong, eh, sir?”

“Undoubtedly, Tom, so—be warned and beware!”

“No no—not me; the warning was for you.”

“Ah, but,” laughed George, “I was already warned! Now pray tell Mr. Beeby I will see him about that probate—oh, here he is.”