Читать книгу The Phantom Lover - Ruby M. Ayres - Страница 8

46

“Mauve is my lucky colour,” she rattled on. “Everything I do in mauve turns out well. But perhaps you don’t believe in a superstition like that?”

Esther was rather bewildered.

“I’m not sure. I never thought about it,” she said hesitatingly. “But it’s a very pretty colour.”

Miss Mason dropped the cushion to the floor, and stooping picked Charlie up and deposited him on it.

“Doesn’t he look sweet?” she demanded. “And a black cat is lucky too, you know, so that’s a comfort.”

She went back to the teapot, made the tea, and poured out a cup for Esther.

“Is that chair comfy?––yes, lean back! What are you looking at? Oh, my photographs! Yes. I have got a lot, haven’t I? Lydia dusts them for me! Lydia’s a treasure! You’ll love her. When I get married she’s going to leave here and come with me–––”

Esther looked interested.

“Are you going to be married?” she asked.

Miss Mason laughed.

“Am I? No, I’m not. I’m too fond of my independence. Not that I don’t like men. I do like them, and I’ve got some awfully good pals amongst them, too. Look!”

She turned with one of her rapid movements, caught up a photograph from the shelf and handed it to Esther.

“There! that’s one of the nicest men I ever met in my life,” she said enthusiastically. “Don’t you think he’s got a ripping face?”

Esther took the portrait laughingly––she thought June Mason one of the most amusing people she had ever met––then she caught her breath on a little smothered exclamation as she found herself looking straight into the pictured eyes of Micky Mellowes.

June Mason was too occupied with a fresh cigarette to notice the blank look that filled Esther’s eyes.

She sat there in the big chair, staring at Micky’s portrait with a sense of foreboding. Surely it was something 47 bigger than just chance that had introduced him into her life for the second time.

“He’s one of the best,” June Mason went on. She dragged forward another chair and plumped down into it comfortably.

“Don’t you admire him?” She opened her eyes wide, looking across at Esther.

“Yes, oh yes! I think he’s quite nice,” Esther said stiltedly. “But not a bit good-looking, do you think?” she asked, with a sort of hesitation.

Miss Mason took the portrait from her and held it at arm’s length.

“Um!” she said critically. “Perhaps he isn’t, but I like him so much, you see, that I’m not a fair judge. He’s been a good friend to me, at all events.”

She got up, replaced the frame on the shelf, and plumped back once more amongst her mauve cushions.

“My people wanted me to marry him at one time,” she went on airily. “I might have done so only I liked him too well. He didn’t care for me, except as a friend, and it seemed a shame to spoil it, so I put my foot down.”

“You mean that you refused him?”

Esther was interested; she was remembering how Micky had told her that he had never really cared for any woman in all his life.

“He never asked me, my dear,” Miss Mason answered candidly. “I let him see that it wouldn’t be any good if he did, and I know he was frightfully relieved. We were never so nearly in love with one another as we were when we both knew that we didn’t mean to get married.” She chuckled reminiscently. “It finished me with my people, though,” she added, “so I cleared out and came here.”

“And––Micky?” Esther asked. “I––I mean Mr. Mellowes....”

Miss Mason looked faintly surprised.

“How did you know his name?” she asked. “Did I tell you? I suppose I did. Oh, he’s all right; he’s the 48 kind of man who always will be all right. He’s got another girl on the tapis now. I don’t know if it will come to anything, though. Anyway, she’s not good enough for him.”

“You seem very fond of him,” Esther said.

“I am. He’s a dear! I should love to see him happily married to a girl with a heart of gold like his own. I think I know him better than most people, and his little corner of the world would be amazed if they knew the amount of good Micky manages to do.”

She had flushed up with her own enthusiasm. Her curious eyes (Esther could not decide if they were grey, blue, or green, or a mixture of all three) were very bright and expressive.

“I’ve heard lots of rotten things said about him,” she went on, “and I know that none of them are really deserved––at least most of them are not. He isn’t a saint––but what man is, I should like to know? But Micky’s the sort who would give his life for a friend or any one little and weak. Do you know”––she flung away the half-smoked cigarette and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees––“last winter, down in the country, I saw Micky go into a dirty pond in evening dress to rescue a drowning cat. What do you think of that?”

“A––a––cat!” said Esther faintly. She looked at Charlie, and remembered how Micky had paid for milk for him the night of their strange meeting.

“A miserable drowning cat!” Miss Mason went on with tragic emphasis. “He heard it mewing from the road, and he went in after it without stopping to think. Now, I call a man a hero who will do a thing like that when he is on his way to a dance he is very keen about, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Esther. Her heart warmed towards Mellowes. Kind as he had been to her, she had not been quite sure of him; it made her feel happier to hear him so warmly championed.

“You’ll be sick to death of my chatter,” June Mason 49 broke out with sudden change of voice. She helped herself to a third cigarette. “I hope you don’t mind smoke,” she apologised. “I’m always at it; I think I smoke dozens a day–––”

“Or throw them away half smoked,” Esther thought amusedly. “I don’t mind at all,” she answered.

“You haven’t told me a thing about yourself,” Miss Mason reminded her reproachfully. “And it’s not fair that I should do all the talking. I know your name, and that’s about all. Have you got any people? Where do you come from?”

Esther flushed a little.

“There isn’t much to tell you. I haven’t any people. I was born in India, and my mother died there. I don’t know anything about my father. I was sent home to an aunt, and she looked after me till about three years ago, when she died. I came to London then, and they took me on at Eldred’s––do you know Eldred’s?”

“Do I not?” said Miss Mason fervently. “Scrumptious things they make; but what prices! I can’t afford them very often, but I go in there a good deal. I know the manager, and he’s going to do some business for me––at least I hope he is. If I can get my stuff into his place it will be a splendid thing. All London shops there, you know; all London with any money, that is!”

Esther looked mystified.

“Your stuff!” she echoed. “What do you mean?”

June Mason laughed merrily. She had a very infectious laugh and a trick of covering her face with her hands while she was laughing.

“I forgot that you didn’t know!” she said. “I seem to know you so well, I can’t remember that we never saw one another before to-day. My dear, I make face cream. Wait a moment.”

She sprang up and disappeared behind a mauve curtain into an adjoining room. Esther heard her moving about, opening and shutting boxes and singing a snatch of song all the time. Presently she came back with a 50 tray crowded with little pots and phials of all sizes and descriptions. She plumped down on her knees beside Esther’s chair.

“There you are!” she said lightly, though there was an odd dash of pride in her voice. “Face cream, night and day cream, eyelash tonic, and all the rest of it! Of course, I’m only just starting––I’m not like those people who advertise in all the papers and charge about a guinea for a shilling jar; but my stuff is as good as theirs any day, and better, because it’s pure. Look!” She took a lid off a little white pot with a mauve label and held it to Esther.

“Isn’t that a glorious perfume?” she demanded. She sniffed it herself with relish. “And it’s all my invention, and I’m as proud of it as a cat would be of nine tails. When I’ve got things a little more ship-shape, Micky’s going to put it on the market for me. It wants a man behind all these sort of things you know. I can do all the donkey work, but I’ve got no head for business. I never know the difference between a loss and a profit. It was partly over this that I quarrelled with my people––they said it was low-down to make face cream and sell it––they’re awful snobs! So I just cleared off and changed my surname and came here. I’m quite happy, and if I haven’t got as much money as I had, I don’t mind––I’ve got my liberty, and that’s worth every thing.”

“I think you’re just wonderful,” Esther said. She picked up a lid from one of the little pots and looked at the mauve and white label.

“June Mason’s natural beautifier....”

She looked at the glowing face opposite to her.

“Do you use it for your own skin?” she asked shyly.

Miss Mason chuckled; she pushed the tray to one side along the floor.

“I don’t mind telling you that I’ve never used cream to my skin at all,” she said. “But people think I do, and so there you are! Have some more tea?”

She refilled Esther’s cup and lit another cigarette. “So 51 that’s what I am,” she said. “And now go on, and tell me about yourself. You said you were at Eldred’s!”

“Yes, I was there for two years. I rather liked it! I love pretty things, and I was in the workroom. They paid me quite well, too, though it was hard work, and then––well, then I left–––” her voice changed subtly.

“Why?”

The query was only interested, and not at all impertinent.

Esther flushed.

“Well––well––I thought I was going to be married. He––well, he asked me to leave to marry him, and so I did....”

“But you’re not married?”

“No–––” Esther was looking away into the fire. “No, I’m not married,” she said in a stifled voice. “He––my fiancé––has had to go away on business––abroad, and I don’t know when I shall see him again.”

Her voice sounded sad and dispirited.

“You poor little thing!” said June Mason. She leaned over and laid her hand on Esther’s. “Never mind! The time will soon pass, and then he’ll come back and you’ll live happily ever after–––”

Esther smiled.

“I know. I keep on telling myself it’s foolish to worry. I felt quite happy this morning. I had a letter from him, and somehow when I read it things didn’t seem half so bad; but–––”

“And you’ll have another to-morrow, I expect.” Miss Mason insisted. “And another the next day, and one every day while he’s away. There! That’s better,” she added cheerily as Esther laughed.

“I don’t like to see you look so sad. I’m going to cheer you up. I shan’t allow you to be miserable. And anyway,” she added, with a sudden softening, “you’ve got some one who loves you, and that’s worth everything else in the world.”

“Yes,” said Esther. Her eyes shone and she thought 52 of the letter which was even then lying against her heart. Somehow she had never realised how much he really cared for her till to-day.

“And what are you going to do till he comes home?” Miss Mason asked interestedly. “If you had something to do you’d find the time pass ever so much more quickly.”

“It’s a question of having to do something rather than how to pass the time,” Esther said. “I haven’t any money except what I can make. My aunt left me a little when she died, but it was only a very little, and I spent most of it at first while I was looking for work. So I’m going back to Eldred’s––if they will have me, and I think they will.”

Miss Mason said “Humph!”

“I think you’re too good for a petticoat shop,” she said bluntly. “You’re wasted there! Nobody sees you, and you’re so pretty–––”

“Oh, what nonsense!” Esther exclaimed. She laughed in sheer amusement. To her it seemed absurd for this girl to call her pretty; she considered June Mason such a personality––so attractive!

She really did make a picturesque figure as she sat there with her mauve cushions all around her. Her yellow blouse and dark hair and wonderful rose-leaf skin reminded one of some brilliant portrait painted by a master-hand.

Esther would have been surprised could she have known the thought in June’s mind at that moment.

“She’s just sweet! I don’t know when I’ve seen a face I admire more. Micky would adore her! She’s just the sort of woman he always raves about. I must ask him to tea to meet her one day.”

“There are heaps of other berths going besides Eldred’s, you know,” she said earnestly. “However, you must do as you like, of course.” She threw away another unfinished cigarette. “Do you think we are going to be friends?” she asked.

53

“I am sure we are,” Esther said. She really did think so; she had never met any one in the least like June Mason before. She began to feel glad that she had come to this house. It was much more expensive than the Brixton Road, certainly, but it was well worth it, even if only because she had met this quaint little woman.

It was nearly seven o’clock before she thought of going back to her own room, and then it was only the chiming of a clock on the shelf that roused her.

“Nearly seven!” She started up in dismay. “I had no idea it was so late. I am sorry for having stayed so long.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” June declared. “You may go shares with this room if you like. I’m out so much, it isn’t used half the time. Think it over, will you?”

Esther flushed nervously.

“It’s awfully kind of you; I should love to, but I couldn’t afford it. I’m really paying more money now than I ought to. I want to save, too–––”

Miss Mason laughed.

“For the wedding! Lucky girl! I hope you’ll ask me to come and see you married––and I hope he’s very nice,” she added.

“He is,” said Esther eagerly. “And he’s very handsome,” she added shyly.

But Miss Mason was not impressed.

“I don’t care a fig if a man is handsome or not,” she said bluntly. “If he’s just manly and straightforward and kind, that’s all I expect him to be. Now look here––we have dinner at half-past seven in this establishment. It’s only supper really, but we all put on our best blouses––if we’ve got any––and call it dinner. I’ll call for you on the way down and we’ll go in together. I’ll tell Mrs. Elders you are going to share my table, if you like; it’s deadly dull sitting alone.”

“I should like to sit with you very much,” Esther said eagerly. “But I really haven’t got a ‘best’ blouse.” She glanced down at the plain white silk shirt she wore; it 54 had been washed many times, and had lost its first freshness.

“Come down as you are, then,” Miss Mason urged, “and I will too! I hate changing. This yellow rag is good enough for the old tabbies we get here.”

Esther went half-way down the stairs and came back.

“Charlie––I’ve forgotten Charlie.”

“Charlie can stay where he is till bedtime,” June declared. “You can come up and fetch him then. Hurry, or you’ll be late.”

Esther went down to her room, feeling more light-hearted than she had done for a long time.

As she unpacked her boxes and tidied her hair she could hear June Mason moving about upstairs, singing cheerily.

“I’m going to like her––I’m going to like her awfully,” she told herself. She hurried to be ready in time, but the rather unmelodious dinner-bell had clanged through the house twice before June came to the door.

“You’ve unpacked, then?” she said. She looked round the small room approvingly. “I can see you’re one of the tidy ones,” she said. “I’m not; I wish I were. However, we can’t all be the same. Are you ready?”

She took Esther’s arm and they went downstairs together.

“Every one knows you’re coming,” June said as they neared the dining-room. “Every one always knows everything that goes on here. Don’t take any notice if they stare a lot; they must stare at something, poor darlings. I’ll tell you who they all are and all about them.”

The dining-room was a long, narrow sort of room that looked as if it once had been two rooms recently thrown into one; the floor was covered with slippery green linoleum, and there was a long table running almost the length of the room, with a few smaller ones on either side.

A grey-haired woman with pebble glasses stood at the 55 head of the long table; Esther recognised her as the proprietress, Mrs. Elders.

She said good-evening to Esther and stared frigidly at June, as if she did not like to see the two girls together. She did not approve of the little face cream lady, though she was careful never to say so, as June was one of her best paying propositions.

Esther was glad when they reached their own table; glad, too, that she was more or less out of the way of curious glances.

The dinner was plain, but infinitely superior to the fare she had had to put up with in the Brixton Road.

“Do you have all your meals here?” she asked June presently.

“No––only breakfast and supper––and not always supper. I go out with friends sometimes. Every one hasn’t given me up just because my family have. But the food is quite good here. They’re rather too fond of rice and stewed apples; but it might be worse. Turn round presently and look at the man behind you with the grey hair. Isn’t he handsome? We call him the colonel, though I don’t believe he’s a colonel at all. He’s a dear, but he always complains about everything. I know he gives notice regularly on Saturday morning and takes it back again on Saturday night. Mrs. Elders would think he wasn’t well if he missed giving her notice.”

She laughed, and turning in her chair spoke to a young man who was sitting alone at one of the smaller tables behind her.

“Is your cough better?” she asked. “I’m going to give you some special stuff to-night for it. No, it isn’t at all nasty.” She turned back to Esther. “May I introduce Mr. Harley––he’s the most interesting person in the whole house. He writes stories and things, Mr. Harley, this is Miss Shepstone––a great friend of mine.”

Harley bowed. He was pale, delicate-looking young man with fine dark eyes.

56

“You never told me that you knew Miss Shepstone,” he said to June.

“I didn’t know her till this afternoon,” she answered promptly; “but I make friends quickly, as you know.”

“You’ll like Harley,” she told Esther presently in an undertone. “He’s very clever, but so delicate, poor boy! He ought to live in the country instead of in London. He’s the sort of person I should love to help if I were rich.”

“It must be wonderful to be rich,” Esther said. There was a little flush in her cheeks; she was really enjoying herself. “It’s the dream of my life to have enough money to be able to do anything I like,” she added earnestly. “Just for a month! If I could be really rich just for one month I wouldn’t mind going back to being poor again.”

Miss Mason said “Rubbish!” briskly. “Money can’t buy happiness, my dear, and don’t you forget it. My people think it can, and lots of other people think the same. It only shows what fools they are. It was the money my people couldn’t get over when I declined to marry Micky Mellowes....” She made a little wry face. “I remember my mother coming into my room one night in her dressing-gown––poor soul!––when she heard I’d told Micky there was nothing doing, and saying tragically: ‘June, you must be mad––stark, staring mad! Why, the man’s as rich as Crœsus!’”

“Rich!” Esther was conscious of an odd little sinking at her heart. “Is Mr. Mellowes rich, then?” she asked constrainedly.

Miss Mason was helping herself to a pat of butter. She held it poised for a moment on the end of her knife while she answered––

“Rich? I should think he is! He’s one of the richest men in London.”

“One of the richest men in London!––but he–––” Esther had been going to add “But he told me that he was poor;” she only just checked the words in time.

June nodded.

57

“He’s the despair of all the match-making mammas,” she said lightly. “Over thirty, he is, and still a bachelor! I’m not sure if he isn’t on the verge of being caught now, but you never can tell! With a little luck he may escape––she isn’t good enough for him, anyway. Have you finished? I’m dying for a cigarette, and we aren’t allowed to smoke here. Come up to my room and I’ll make you some coffee; the stuff they give us here isn’t fit to drink.”

She pushed back her chair and rose, and Esther followed.

She kept her eyes down as she walked the length of the room; the colour rose in her cheeks as she realised how every one was staring at her. The colonel, whom June had declared was not a colonel at all, rose and held the door open for them to pass out.

June chuckled as they went upstairs.

“You’ve made an impression, my dear! It isn’t often he does that for any one.” She slipped an arm through Esther’s. “Why are you frowning so? Have I said anything to annoy you?”

Esther laughed.

“Of course not. I was only thinking.... Do you––do your friends ever come here to see you?”

She was thinking of Micky Mellowes, and wondering if he ever came to the boarding-house, and if so, why he had not told her that he knew somebody living here. After all, if he had deceived her in one instance he would do so in many others––she felt a curious sense of hurt pride; why had he gone out of his way to tell her he was a poor man, when all the time–––?

“To tell you the truth,” June said frankly, “none of my friends know where I am living. Call it false pride if you like, but there you are. I have all my letters, except business ones, sent to my club––I belong to an unpretentious club––I’ll take you there some day––and not even Micky knows that I live here. You see, when I flew in the face of providence, otherwise my noble family, 58 they stopped my allowance, so as I’m entirely self-supporting, I had to be careful and live inexpensively, so I came here. And I’m very comfortable. If I want to meet any of my friends we meet out somewhere. I think it’s better; it leaves me quite free....”

They were back in her room again now, and Charlie had looked up with one eye from his mauve cushion, and purred, by way of a greeting.

June lit a cigarette and rushed about in pursuit of the coffee-pot. All her movements were quick. She seemed to breathe life and energy.

Esther walked over to the fireplace, and found herself looking at Micky’s photograph.

After all, he was just like all the other men she had ever known; apparently none of them could be simple and sincere; she supposed it had been his way of condescending to her, to pretend that he was poor and in similar circumstances to herself; perhaps he had guessed that she would never have allowed him to pay for her supper or tea, or have talked to her as he had done, if she had known him to be a rich man.

She need never see him again, that was one thing; her heart hardened as she met the frankness of his pictured eyes; he was not as honest as he looked.

She had mistaken condescension for kindness. She bit her lip with mortification as she recalled the confidence she had made to him only that afternoon. He was probably laughing at it now, and no doubt would repeat all she had said to his friends as a good joke.

She went to her own room as soon as she had had the coffee. She made the excuse that she was tired, but when she went upstairs she sat down on the side of the bed and made no effort to undress. A sort of shadow seemed to have fallen on her spirits. She felt mortified that Micky should so deliberately have lied to her; her cheeks burned as she thought of the despair she had been in last night when she met him. She hoped she would never see him again.

59

She looked round the little room with angry eyes. If only Fate had set her feet in sunnier paths. She looked at the plain furniture and cheap carpet; the wallpaper was hideous; there was a frightful oleograph of two Early Victorian women with crinolines and ringlet curls hanging over the mantlepiece. They both looked smug and self-satisfied. There was an enlarged photograph of a bald-headed man wearing a Masonic apron on another wall. He was fat and had his right hand plastered carefully along a chair-back to bring into prominence a large signet ring. Esther looked at him and shivered. She felt utterly alone and cut off from the world. She longed for Raymond Ashton with all her soul. She hated Micky Mellowes because his kindly condescension had made her feel her position more acutely now she knew him to be what he was.

In spite of the new friend she had made in June Mason she felt lonely and unwanted; she began to cry like a child, as she sat there on the side of the iron bedstead; the tears ran down her cheeks and she made no effort to wipe them away.

She wanted to be happy so badly, and it seemed as if she never was to be happy. The elation that had come to her when she read Micky’s letter that morning had faded miserably; after all, what was a letter when it was a real, living personality she wanted, and not mere words?

Downstairs she could hear June Mason moving about and singing; she at least was happy with her little mauve pots and her cheery optimism.

Esther cried all the time she undressed; she crept into bed sobbing miserably, like a child who sleeps at a boarding-school for the first time.

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